... Went this morning with Krishnaswami of Madras--Krishna is my "Boy,"
and is aged about forty--to Army and Navy Stores for clothes. The
thinnest I could get at home feel very thick and hot here in this hot
November. I'd also to get photograph films, and guitar strings, and
blankets for the Boy against the cold weather--just now the mere thought
of a blanket grills one's mind--also to book shops to get books about
India, which I am pretty sure never to have time to read. In my
innocence tried to get my return tickets on P. & O. changed to another
line, and signally failed to do so. Then drew a little and loafed a good
deal on the Bundar watching the lateen-rigged boats. These boats take
passengers to Elephanta or go off to the ships in the Bay with cargoes
of brightly coloured fruits. The scene always reminds me of that
beautiful painting by Tiepolo of the landing of Queen Elizabeth in our
National Gallery--I daresay one or two Edinburgh people may know it. The
boats are about twenty feet long with narrow beam. Figures in rich
colours sit under the little awnings spread over the stern; the sailors
are naked and brown, and pole the boats to their moorings with long,
glistening bamboos, which they drive into the bottom and make fast at
stem and stern. It is pleasant to watch the play of muscle, and
attitudes, and the flicker of the reflected blue sky on their brown
perspiring backs as they swarm up the sloping yards and cotton sails to
brail up. No need for anatomy here, or at home for that matter; if an
artist can't remember the reflected blue on warm damp flesh, he does not
better matters by telling us what he has learned of the machinery
inside--that is, of course, where Michael Angelo did not quite pull it
off.
As I sat on the parapet a beautiful emerald fish some four feet long
came sailing beneath my feet in the yellowish water; a little boy
shouted with glee, and a brown naked boatman tried to gaff it, then a
brilliant butterfly, velvet black and blue, fluttered through the little
fleet; and with the colours of the draperies, of peaceful but piratical
looking men, the lateen sails, and sunlight and heat, it all felt "truly
Oriental." To bring in a touch of the West, one of the "Renown's" white
and green launches with brass funnels rushed up and emptied a perfect
cargo of young Eastern princes in white muslins, and pink, orange, and
green turbans with floating tails to them. They clambered up the stone
slip with their bear leader and got into carriages with uniformed
drivers, six or more into each carriage quite easily; the basket trick
seems nothing to me now--they were such slips of lads--but what colour!
At lunch we talked with Miss M. She gave us the latest ship news about
our late fellow passengers--the mutual interest has not quite evaporated
yet--gave us news of the ladies who had come out to be married. She had
asked one of these as they came off the ship into the tender what it was
she carried so carefully, and the reply was, "My wedding cake," and of a
poor man, she told us, who came on at Marseilles bringing out his
fiancee's trousseau, and who found on his arrival here, he had utterly
lost it! What would the latter end of that man be; would she forgive?
Could she forget? It was said that another lady, finding the natives
were in the habit of going about without clothes, booked a return
passage by the next ship.
Here is a jotting at this same landing place of the Prince and Princess
going off to the Guard Ship, but I am so sorry it is not reproduced in
colour. They were to have gone to the Caves of Elephanta across the bay,
but had not time. They apparently go on and on, without any "eight
hour" pause, through the procession of engagements--it must be
dreadfully fatiguing.
You see three Eurasians in foreground of the sketch, one of them with
almost white hair and white skin, and freckles and blue eyes, he might
be Irish or York shire. The two younger boys are, I think, his
brothers--they have taken more after their mother. All three are nervous
and excited watching for the Prince. They are neatly dressed in thin
clothes, through which their slightly angular figures show, and have
nervous movements of hand to mouth, and quick gentle voices, slightly
staccato, what is called "chee chee," I believe.
[Illustration]
Beyond the boys you see a Parsi woman looking round. They are
conspicuous people in Bombay by their look of intense harmlessness. The
men are very tidy and wear what they probably would describe as European
clothes, trousers and long cutaway coats and white turndown collars.
Some have grey pot hats, with a round moulding instead of a brim, but
their ordinary hat is something like a mitre in black lacquer, and it
does suggest heat! They all have very brainy-looking heads from the
youth upwards, and wear glasses over eyes that have no quickness--as if
they could count but couldn't see--and they constantly move their long,
weakly hands in somewhat purposeless angular fashion; the women with
similar movements frequently pat their front hair which is plastered
down off their foreheads, and shade their eyes with their hands at a
right angle to their wrists.
I suppose they and the Bengalis are the backbone of Indian mercantile
business. Yet in "India," by Sir Thomas Holdich, I read that out of the
population of 287,000,000 the Parsis do not number even one-tenth of a
million. It seems to me that we have the Parsi woman's type at home in
some of our old families, as we have remains of their Zoroastrian
fire-worship. I've seen one or two really beautiful and highly cultured,
but the average is just a little high-shouldered and floppy, and their
noses answer too closely to Gainsborough's description of Mrs Siddons'.
Mrs Siddons is just the Parsi type glorified.
We went to the ladies gymkana to-day more for the sake of the drive, I
think, than for anything else--with the utmost deference to ladies, they
can be seen at home--a few people played Badminton by lamplight; it was
dusky, damp, and warm, and heavy matting hung round the courts. Outside
an orange sunset shone through palm stems, and flying foxes as big as
fox terriers passed moth-like within arms length. From the height we
were on we looked down over the Back Bay, and far below in the twilight
we could make out the lights from a few boats on the sand, and
fishermen's lamps flickered across the mud flats, and from far out in
the west a light kept flashing from an island that was the haunt of
pirates the other day. Two more lights we saw were glowing to the
south-east in Bombay itself--one, the light of the native fair, and a
slight glow from the remains of the Bombay and Baroda Railway Offices, a
great domed building that burned up last night after the illuminations.
It was madness to cover public buildings with open oil lamps and leave
them to be looked after by natives--this huge Taj hotel, dry as tinder
outside, a complexity of dry wooden jalousies and balconies, was covered
with these lights and floating flags--how it didn't go off like a squib
was a miracle. I saw one flag gently float into a lamp, burn up and fall
in flaming shreds and no one was the wiser or the worse. The faintest
breath of air one way or the other and the other flags would have caught
fire, and in a second it would have run everywhere.
... After the Ladies Club, pegs and billiards inside the Yacht Club, the
Bombay ladies outside on the green lawn at tea, gossip, hats, local
affairs, and Imperialism, and beyond them the ships of the fleet picked
out with electric lights along the lines of their hulls and up masts and
funnels like children's slate drawings.
It was interesting to come from the street and the crowds of Parsis and
natives all so slenderly built and watch the British youth in shirt
sleeves and thin tweeds playing billiards--they were not above the
average physique of their class, mostly young fellows who had already
been through campaigns--and you noted the muscles showing through their
thin clothes and compared them with native figures, and it did not seem
surprising that one of them could keep in order quite a number of such
wisps as the billiard markers for example. But up north they say the
natives are stronger and bigger than here.
Every now and then a boy passed round bags of chalk on hot water
enamelled plates to dry the players' hands and cues, which gives one an
idea of the damp heat of Bombay.
... Now my friend says he's off to dress, and we go into the
dressing-room--that is a sight for a nouveau! Dozens of dark men in
white linen clothes and turbans are waiting on these little chaps from
home, as they drop in. They are tubbed and towelled, shirts studded and
put on, and are fitted without hardly lifting a hand themselves till
they put the finishing touch to hair and moustache at the glasses and
dressing-tables that are fixed round the pillars--sounds like
effeminacy, but it is not, for it is far more tiring for a man to be
dressed here by two skilful servants than it is to dash into his clothes
at home by himself. If you were to dress here without help you might as
well have dropped into your bath all standing, you would be so wet and
uncomfortable; but all the same I think it is stupid the way we people
cling to a particular style of evening dress regardless of
circumstances.
Then home to the Taj in the dusk through a crowd of natives jammed tight
on the Bundar, all looking one way breathlessly at the fleet's fireworks
and search-lights. You touch them on the shoulder and say, "With your
leave," and they make way most politely, and you wonder if it is because
you are British or because they have bare toes.
I went to the theatre in the evening, a native Theatre Royal. None of my
relations or friends seemed interested, so I availed myself of the kind
offer of guidance given me by a fellow artist, an amateur painter, but a
professional cutter of clothes. I expected something rather picturesque,
possibly rather squalid, but found it intensely interesting and
characteristic and very clean, a cross-between a little French theatre,
say in Monte Parnasse, and one of the lesser London theatres. The acting
was French in style and expressive, and full of humour and frankness,
and there was a quaint decorative style in all the tableaux and in the
actors' movements that made me think rather of Persian figures in
decorations than of India. There was a parterre and a wide gallery, in
which we got back seats; the audience were all men and well-dressed, and
laughed heartily at the points. These I was fortunate enough to have
most patiently described to me by a Syrian who sat beside me,
apple-faced and beaming, pleased with the play and himself as
interpreter. Besides his valued assistance, I had from the doorkeeper a
resume of the plot printed in English; my acquaintance was less
fortunate, for, owing to the house being full, we had to separate to
get seats, and I fear he lost a good deal of the interest. The Syrian
gave me the strong points of the different actors, and told me that he
himself was an importer of gold leaf and thread; he had, I think, one of
the jolliest faces I have ever seen. The most simple and telling effect
was when the Prime Minister found his young master sickened of love for
a beautiful lady, and sent to the bazaar for musicians and dancers; they
came and arranged themselves facing the audience in the front of the
stage in a perfectly decorative arrangement, struck in a moment. Every
turn of hand and poise of body and arrangement of colour suggested the
smiling figures you see on Persian illuminations. I forgot the effect on
the Prince--I wonder he didn't die before we left; he had been acting
hours before we came, and we only saw a portion of the play--left at
twelve, and must have been there three hours! As we drove home the
bazaars were still busy. One street struck me as peculiarly quiet. There
were Japs at balconies of low two-storied doll-houses, silhouetted
against lamplight which shone through their red fans and pink kimonos,
and other shabby houses with spindle-shanked darker natives, in white
draperies, also some larger people dimly seen, on long chairs, who my
friend said, were probably French--European at least. One or two groups
of rather orderly sailors, and a soldier or two, were all the people on
the street, and the only sound was "Come eer', come eer'" from the
balconies in various accents. The Edinburgh cafe I noticed, loomed large
and dark and very respectable looking in the middle of the street. I
suppose you could get drinks there on week days; my companion, the
cutter, did not take any drinks, so I think he must be thinking of
marriage. He was very interested in Art--what a bond that is, wider than
freemasonry, what good fellows artists are to each other the world
over--till they become Associates. This tailor was turned out of London
by the aliens; he spoke gently and pathetically of the way the
unscrupulous and insinuating foreigner works out the home-bred honest
man from London. "If all was known," he said, "aliens would be
restricted;" and Blessed are the meek, I thought, for they shall inherit
the earth--if they only live long enough.
[Illustration: Lord Minto's Landing in India.]
CHAPTER XA
17th.--Everyone on the Apollo Bundar and in Bombay waited for the guns
to announce the arrival of the new Viceroy, and for The Mail; to mothers
and fathers just out, letters from little ones by the mail was perhaps
the more important event. Maharajahs, aide-de-camps, generals, and hosts
of officials were all trying to keep cool, to speed the parting Viceroy,
and welcome his successor with all proper ceremony. To understand and
describe how this was done is beyond my powers, therefore I must content
myself with a note here and there. It struck me as improper that the
cheers which welcomed the new Viceroy had practically to do duty for the
departure of Lord Curzon. They say, "Le roi est mort, vive le Roi," but
in this case, "Le Roi" wasn't dead, but on the contrary must have been
painfully alive to the sounds of cannons booming and cheers ringing to
welcome his successor. I'd have had three or four days decent calm for
the Empire to note the departure of so great an actor in its history.
Then, after silence and fasting; fresh paint and flags for the new
arrival!
Monday afternoon.--Guns fire, and the new Viceroy on the P. & O. steamer
arrives in the bay. As she steams through the fleet, the hot air
resounds with thunder of guns, and smoke accumulates. Now she is passing
the _Renown_ and _Terrible_, and the smoke hangs so thick that the hills
and ships are almost hidden, and you can only see the yellow flashes
through the banks of grey smoke.
As Lord Minto landed at the Bundar, the sun was setting and the lamps
were lit, and a soft breeze offshore floated out the flags against the
glow of the sunset.
18th.--Made a jotting of the departure of Lord Curzon from the Apollo
Bundar. It was a very brilliant affair; any number of white uniforms
sparkling with gold, and ladies in exquisite dresses, and with cameras
with which they shot the departing couple from the stone buttresses.
Lady Curzon was in soft silk and muslin crepe-de-chine, I think, a
colour between pale green and violet, possibly a little of both. It was
a very pretty dress and with a parasol to match. They went down the
steps and the red carpet to the cheers of people on the pier. This
effective carpet with the white edge has figured a good deal lately in
various ceremonies; the Prince and Princess went up and down it, and
Viceroys and Vicereines, and many Generals and Maharajahs. It ought to
be preserved by the municipality.
I thought I'd condescend just for once to try a photo on this occasion,
as Lord Curzon went down the steps to the tender, and I believe I lost
in consequence, by the fraction of a second, a mental picture that I'd
have treasured for the rest of my days and have possibly reduced to
paint. Just as the whole scene was coming to a point when the least
movement on the part of the principal figures one way or the other would
take away from the effect; when Lord Curzon turned on the landing in the
middle of the steps to say farewell, I had to look down at my pesky
little camera to pull the trigger! So my mind is left blank just where I
know there should be a telling arrangement, just such a moment as that
painted in "The Spears," the Breda picture, where the principal actors
and the others are caught in the very nick of time--the camera will now
rest on the shelf beside a rhyming dictionary and the Encyclopaedia
Britannica.
Lord Curzon said a few words to the people near him before going down
the last steps into the launch, and it in the meantime gently and
perseveringly smoked the ticket-holders on the buttress of the pier
opposite us; and we ticket-holders and G. P. on our buttress smiled at
their pained expressions--our time was to come. It stopped smoking, held
its breath as it were, and came slowly under us, and Lady Curzon looked
up from under the awning in the stern with a charming smile, and all our
topees came off or white gloved hands went up in salute to beautiful
white helmets--and our turn came!--the launch gave a snort, and we felt
a pleasant, cool rain from condensed steam, and thought it refreshing as
it fell on our faces. Then we grinned as we looked at our neighbours;
and then realized that we too were black as sweeps, topees, white
helmets, and uniforms all covered with a fine black oily rain. I've a
new topee to charge against one or other of the Viceroys or
Government--General Pretyman hardly looked his name--and during the rest
of the function of the return from the Bundar of Lord Minto and his
retainers, you could tell by his grey speckled side what position in the
preceding function a spectator had occupied. A Parsi, in neat black
frock-coat and Brunswick black hat, and dark face, remarked to me with a
smile, "You see the advantage of a little colour,"--bit of a wag I
thought!
Altogether it was a very A.1. sight the colour Veronesque; the troops,
rajahs, beautiful ladies in exquisite latest dresses, and the variety of
type, European and native, made a splendid subject for a historical
picture.
Then the new Viceroy left the Shamiana on the Bundar after making a
speech, which I was sorry I did not hear, for I was so engaged looking
at things, and longing to have some method of putting down colours
without looking at one's hand, as you can touch notes on a musical
instrument. Can no inventor make something to do this--something to lie
in the palm and bring all colours and divisions of colour ready made to
the finger tips so that you might put them down in a revelry of colour
as unconsciously and freely as the improvisator can use the notes on the
piano to express his feeling.
There is more cheering and more gun firing and carriages dash up to the
front of the Shamiana and its white Eastern arches that have done so
much service this week, and Lord Minto drives off. It is most
interesting seeing the Borderer who is to be Warden of the Indian
Peninsula for the next five years. Lady Minto follows, with her
daughters behind her. They stand in the full light, white pillars on
either side and red light filtering through hangings behind. White
uniformed brown-faced officers follow in attendance with glitter of gold
and waving white and red feathers. Lady Minto wears a very big wide hat,
blue and white ostrich feathers under the brim--her daughters are in
bright summery colours; the three drive off in an open carriage with an
honoured soldier.
Then soldier after soldier in gay uniforms with floating white and
scarlet cock feathers drove off in carriages, dog carts, and motors,
followed by city officials, Port trustees, doctors, lawyers, and smaller
wigs till vanishing point might have been marked, I suppose, by the
official artist did the Empire run to such an extravagance. Then more
carriages glittering in gold came up, and old, and fat, young, and thin,
genial, and haughty Indian princes, covered with gold and jewellery, got
in or were helped in, and footmen in gorgeous clothes and bare feet
jumped up in front and behind, and off they went, the big princes
leading with horsemen and drawn swords behind them. Smaller carriages
followed till you come down to victorias with perhaps just one syce.
Then the Poona Horse, beautifully mounted, in dark blue, red, and gold,
with drawn swords rode past at a very quick trot, now and then breaking
into a canter with a fine jingle and dust that made almost the best part
of the show.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I can't say I enjoy this damp warm weather here. It feels all right in
the sun out of doors, but indoors after dark and in draughts from
punkahs it is horrid. I'd now give a considerable sum for one whole day
of twenty-four hours clear Arctic or Antarctic sunny air and snow; one
would feel dry then, and lose the cold and fever that sticks to one
here. The Turkish bath is the only place you can get really dry in; at
one hundred and fifty in the hot room you feel more comfortable than
outside at eighty-two. The Turkish bath in the hotel is very nicely
fitted up, but the native masseur wasn't a pleasing experience, his weak
chocolate-coloured hands gave me the sensation of the touch of a
middling strong eel; his lean, lithe figure and the charms round his
neck, and grey hair died brick-red I expect to see again in dreams--a
crease in his teeth and venom in his evil eye.
It is curious that though you do not see any sign of this dampness in
the air either by day or night, whenever the search lights from the war
ships are turned on; you see what appear to be clouds of vapour drifting
across the path of light.
At night we drove to Malabar Hill to the new Viceroy's reception, and it
was all pretty much the same as going to the reception given by their
Royal Highnesses. The air damp, hot, and dusty, and for a long way heavy
with the smell of roasting bodies, and this time inscriptions across the
lamplit road were changed to "God bless our new Viceroy;" but we had the
same waiting outside Government House, met the same people and heard
much the same talk about Lord Curzon's Byculla speech and about this one
and the other. "So and so is looking well isn't he?" "Yes, yes--ha,
ha--laying it on a bit, isn't he! Must be a stone heavier since his
leave--takes his fences though they say like a man. Oh! excellent
speech. They must be tired--poor people--hear they were very pleased
with our decorations. Well, you know they weren't bad, were they?" Of
course the "excellent speech" was Lord Curzon's farewell, and "They"
stands for their Royal Highnesses.
I noticed some Parsi ladies rather better looking than I had already
seen. One was really beautiful, allowing a decimal point off her nose.
This beauty moved briskly and firmly and had eyes to see and be seen.
Many of them have slightly hen-like expressions and wear glasses and
carry their shoulders too high. As they are the only native women who
appear in public they naturally draw your attention. The Hindoos and
Mohammedans shut their women up at home and glower on yours; but the
Parsi goes about with his wife and daughters with him in public, and
therefore enlists your sympathy. These Parsis were driven from Persia in
pre-Mohammedan times by religious persecution. I suppose their belief
was akin to our old religion which the masterful Columba rang out of
Iona. I don't think I have seen any men on apparently such friendly
relations with their women and children. You see them everywhere in
Bombay, often in family groups, their expressions beyond being clever,
perhaps shrewd, are essentially those of gentlemen and gentlewomen.[6]
The only other native women I have seen have their mouths so horribly
red with betel nut and red saliva that you dare not look at them twice,
so perhaps it is as well that their absence is so conspicuous.
[6] The strength of intellectual capacity added to the material wealth
which is possessed by this community have given it abnormal prominence,
the measure of which may be estimated by the fact that out of a total of
287,000,000 inhabitants of India, the Parsis do not number even
one-tenth of a million. _See_ Sir Thomas Holdich's "India."
I need hardly say that Mrs H. and G. were the most beautifully dressed
ladies in the crowd, and made the most perfect curtseys, and H. and I
the most elegant bows to the Viceroy and Vicereine. They stood on a
dais, and as we passed in file we were introduced, and the Viceroy
bobbed and Lady Minto looked and smiled a little, just as if she knew
your name and about you and saw more than men as trees walking, and we
bowed and went on, thinking it nice to see people in so great and
responsible a position attending to the little details so well, not
forgetting that many littles make a mickle, and that those two servants
of the Empire have been standing doing this for half an hour, and will
still have to go on for an hour at least in this very tiring Bombay heat
and crowd, and after a P. & O. voyage and landing! Their total effort
for all the ceremonies of the day before, and years to come, rather
appalled me to think of. Bravo! Public Servants, who work for honour and
the Empire; how will the Socialist fill your places when he is on top.
As before, gorgeously apparelled scarlet turbaned waiters gave us
champagne, and native princes hemmed the tables for it, and chocolates.
Here is a little picture of what I remember--you may suppose some of the
figures represent our party after getting over the bow and into the
straight for the cup. We then wandered about, and admired the uniforms
of the governor's body guard, tall native soldiers standing round about
the passages with huge turbans and beards, blue tunics, white breeches,
and tall black boots, all straight and stiff as their lances, and
barring their roving black eyes, as motionless. From a verandah opposite
the Viceroy, we watched the new comers making their bows; ladies,
soldiers, sailors, civilians, single or married passed, and never were
two bows or curtseys absolutely alike, nor were two walks, but the
Viceroy's bow and Lady Minto's pleasant smile and half look of
recognition were equally cordial to all.
[Illustration: A Reception in Government House, Bombay.]
Our departure--hours to wait again for our carriage. H. stood-by in
front, waiting for our number to be shouted; fortune drove me wandering
up the drive with a Government House cheroot, too fagged to speak to
people, and lo and behold! our carriage driver and syce, asleep in a
by-way. So I brought it along and sung out 658! 658! and away we all got
hours sooner than might have been.
The road is full of carriages, gharries, and dog carts.
Occupants--officers, sailors, and soldiers in batches, alone or with
ladies; white shirts and skirts gleam green in the moonlight--the
road--dusty, stuffy, and the pace go-as-you-please; past a lamplit
bungalow in the shadows of trees and out into the open again and
moonlight and dust--past a motor by the roadside, its owner, in court
dress, sweating at its works--dust, moonlight, and black silk--a
Whistler by Jove! Now we pass a slow going gharry, and now two young
hatless soldiers in a high dog cart pass us under the trees, downhill at
a canter, an inch between us, and half an inch between their off wheel
and the edge of the road, and the sea ten feet beneath. Then along the
lines of tents, with their curtains open and occupants going to bed....
We too must experience that tent life, but not in town if we can help
it.
By all that's lucky the lift works still! That grand stairway is a
climb, in the sma' hours--a pipe and a chat and this line in this
journal, and under the mosquito curtains to sleep--I hope till past time
for church; all the common prey of the grey mosquito, viceroy, public
servant, private gentleman alike.
Yesterday being Sunday we had a day of rest and did no manner of
work--only painted and wrote up my journal, and in the late afternoon G.
and I drove down to Colaba, the point south of Bombay. This took us
through the cantonments and past officers' houses on the low ground,
amongst barracks, and soldiers in khaki and rolled up shirt sleeves,
smoking their pipes under palms and tropic trees; with the lap of Indian
Ocean on the shore to the west, and Bombay on the left and east. This is
not the healthiest or most fashionable quarter. Our officers cannot
afford to take the best bungalows and situations which are towards
Malabar Hill, for the Hindoos and Parsis, who owe their wealth to our
military protection, can buy them out easily. I'd put that right "If I
were king!" So our officials and officers have to live where their pay
will let them, in low lying bungalows and expensive flats, or in
hotels. Though not fashionable, it was a pleasant enough drive for us. A
glimpse of the open ocean with the setting sun makes you feel that it is
possible to up anchor and go, sooner or later--somewhere.