In India--in the plains--people rise before dawn, and it is not till
after some weeks' residence in the cooler atmosphere of the mountains
that they return to the pernicious habit of allowing the sun to be
before them. The hours of early morning, when one either mopes about in
loose flannel clothes, or goes for a gallop on the green _maidán_, are
without exception the most delicious of the day. I shall have occasion
hereafter to describe the morning's proceedings in the plains. On the
day after the events recorded in the last chapter I awoke as usual at
five o'clock, and meandered out on to the verandah to have a look at the
hills, so novel and delicious a sight after the endless flats of the
northwest provinces. It was still nearly dark, but there was a faint
light in the east, which rapidly grew as I watched it, till, turning the
angle of the house, I distinguished a snow-peak over the tops of the
dark rhododendrons, and, while I gazed, the first tinge of distant
dawning caught the summit, and the beautiful hill blushed, as a fair
woman, at the kiss of the awakening sun. The old story, the heaven
wooing the earth with a wondrous shower of gold.
"Prati 'shya sunarî janî"--the exquisite lines of the old Vedic hymn to
the dawn maiden, rose to my lips. I had never appreciated or felt their
truth down in the dusty plains, but here, on the free hills, the glad
welcoming of the morning light seemed to run through every fibre, as
thousands of years ago the same joyful thrill of returning life inspired
the pilgrim fathers of the Aryan race. Almost unconsciously, I softly
intoned the hymn, as I had heard my old Brahmin teacher in Allahabad
when he came and sat under the porch at daybreak, until I was ready for
him--
The lissome heavenly maiden here,
Forth flashing from her sister's arms,
High heaven's daughter, now is come.
In rosy garments, shining like
A swift bay mare; the twin knights' friend,
Mother of all our herds of kine.
Yea, thou art she, the horseman's friend;
Of grazing cattle mother thou,
All wealth is thine, thou blushing dawn.
Thou who hast driven the foeman back,
With praise we call on thee to wake
In tender reverence, beauteous one.
The spreading beams of morning light
Are countless as our hosts of kine,
They fill the atmosphere of space.
Filling the sky, thou openedst wide
The gates of night, thou glorious dawn--
Rejoicing-run thy daily race!
The heaven above thy rays have filled,
The broad belovèd room of air,
O splendid, brightest maid of morn!
I went indoors again to attend to my correspondence, and presently a
gorgeously liveried white-bearded _chuprassie_ appeared at the door, and
bending low as he touched his hand to his forehead, intimated that "if
the great lord of the earth, the protector of the poor, would turn his
ear to the humblest of his servants, he would hear of something to his
advantage."
So saying, he presented a letter from the official with whom I had to
do, an answer to my note of the previous afternoon, requesting an
interview. In due course, therefore, the day wore on, and I transacted
my business, returned to "tiffin," and then went up to my rooms for a
little quiet. I might have been there an hour, smoking and dreaming over
a book, when the servant announced a sahib who wanted to see me, and
Isaacs walked in, redolent of the sunshine without, his luminous eyes
shining brightly in the darkened room. I was delighted, for I felt my
wits stagnating in the unwonted idleness of the autumn afternoon, and
the book I had taken up was not conducive to wakefulness or brilliancy.
It was a pleasant surprise too. It is not often that an hotel
acquaintance pushes an intimacy much, and besides I had feared my
silence during the previous evening might have produced the impression
of indifference, on which reflection I had resolved to make myself
agreeable at our next meeting.
Truly, had I asked myself the cause of a certain attraction I felt for
Mr. Isaacs, it would have been hard to find an answer. I am generally
extremely shy of persons who begin an acquaintance by making
confidences, and, in spite of Isaacs' charm of manner, I had certainly
speculated on his reasons for suddenly telling an entire stranger his
whole story. My southern birth had not modified the northern character
born in me, though it gave me the more urbane veneer of the Italian; and
the early study of Larochefoucauld and his school had not predisposed me
to an unlimited belief in the disinterestedness of mankind. Still there
was something about the man which seemed to sweep away unbelief and
cynicism and petty distrust, as the bright mountain freshet sweeps away
the wretched little mud puddles and the dust and impurities from the bed
of a half dry stream. It was a new sensation and a novel era in my
experience of humanity, and the desire to get behind that noble
forehead, and see its inmost workings, was strong beyond the strength of
puny doubts and preconceived prejudice. Therefore, when Isaacs appeared,
looking like the sun-god for all his quiet dress of gray and his
unobtrusive manner, I felt the "little thrill of pleasure" so aptly
compared by Swinburne to the soft touch of a hand stroking the outer
hair.
"What a glorious day after all that detestable rain!" were his first
words. "Three mortal months of water, mud, and Mackintoshes, not to
mention the agreeable sensation of being glued to a wet saddle with your
feet in water-buckets, and mountain torrents running up and down the
inside of your sleeves, in defiance of the laws of gravitation; such is
life in the monsoon. Pah!" And he threw himself down on a cane chair and
stretched out his dainty feet, so that the sunlight through the crack of
the half-closed door might fall comfortingly on his toes, and remind him
that it was fine outside.
"What have you been doing all day?" I asked, for lack of a better
question, not having yet recovered from the mental stagnation induced by
the last number of the serial story I had been reading.
"Oh--I don't know. Are you married?" he asked irrelevantly.
"God forbid!" I answered reverently, and with some show of feeling.
"Amen," was the answer. "As for me--I am, and my wives have been
quarreling."
"Your wives! Did I understand you to use the plural number?"
"Why, yes. I have three; that is the worst of it. If there were only
two, they might get on better. You know 'two are company and three are
none,' as your proverb has it." He said this reflectively, as if
meditating a reduction in the number.
The application of the proverb to such a case was quite new in my
recollection. As for the plurality of my friend's conjugal relations, I
remembered he was a Mohammedan, and my surprise vanished. Isaacs was
lost in meditation. Suddenly he rose to his feet, and took a cigarette
from the table.
"I wonder"--the match would not light, and he struggled a moment with
another. Then he blew a great cloud of smoke, and sat down in a
different chair--"I wonder whether a fourth would act as a fly-wheel,"
and he looked straight at me, as if asking my opinion.
I had never been in direct relations with a Mussulman of education and
position. To be asked point-blank whether I thought four wives better
than three on general principles, and quite independently of the
contemplated spouse, was a little embarrassing. He seemed perfectly
capable of marrying another before dinner for the sake of peace, and I
do not believe he would have considered it by any means a bad move.
"Diamond cut diamond," I said. "You too have proverbs, and one of them
is that a man is better sitting than standing; better lying than
sitting; better dead than lying down. Now I should apply that same
proverb to marriage. A man is, by a similar successive reasoning, better
with no wife at all than with three."
His subtle mind caught the flaw instantly. "To be without a wife at all
would be about as conducive to happiness as to be dead. Negative
happiness, very negative."
"Negative happiness is better than positive discomfort."
"Come, come," he answered, "we are bandying terms and words, as if empty
breath amounted to anything but inanity. Do you really doubt the value
of the institution of marriage?"
"No. Marriage is a very good thing when two people are so poor that they
depend on each other, mutually, for daily bread, or if they are rich
enough to live apart. For a man in my own position marriage would be the
height of folly; an act of rashness only second to deliberate suicide.
Now, you are rich, and if you had but one wife, she living in Delhi and
you in Simla, you would doubtless be very happy."
"There is something in that," said Isaacs. "She might mope and beat the
servants, but she could not quarrel if she were alone. Besides, it is so
much easier to look after one camel than three. I think I must try it."
There was a pause, during which he seemed settling the destiny of the
two who were to be shelved in favour of a monogamic experiment.
Presently he asked if I had brought any horses, and hearing I had not,
offered me a mount, and proposed we should ride round Jako, and perhaps,
if there were time, take a look at Annandale in the valley, where there
was polo, and a racing-ground. I gladly accepted, and Isaacs despatched
one of my servants, the faithful Kiramat Ali, to order the horses.
Meantime the conversation turned on the expedition to Kabul to avenge
the death of Cavagnari. I found Isaacs held the same view that I did in
regard to the whole business. He thought the sending of four Englishmen,
with a handful of native soldiers of the guide regiment to protect them,
a piece of unparalleled folly, on a par with the whole English policy in
regard to Afghanistan.
"You English--pardon me, I forgot you did not belong to them--the
English, then, have performed most of their great acts of valour as a
direct consequence of having wantonly exposed themselves in situations
where no sane man would have placed himself. Look at Balaclava; think of
the things they did in the mutiny, and in the first Afghan war; look at
the mutiny itself, the result of a hair-brained idea that a country like
India could be held for ever with no better defences than the
trustworthiness of native officers, and the gratitude of the people for
the 'kindly British rule.' Poor Cavagnari! when he was here last summer,
before leaving on his mission, he said several times he should never
came back. And yet no better man could have been chosen, whether for
politics or fighting; if only they had had the sense to protect him."
Having delivered himself of this eulogy, my friend dropped his exhausted
cigarette, lit another, and appeared again absorbed in the triangulation
of his matrimonial problem. I imagined him weighing the question whether
he should part with Zobeida and Zuleika and keep Anima, or send Zuleika
and Amina about their business, and keep Zobeida to be a light in his
household. At last Kiramat Ali, on the watch in the verandah, announced
the saices with the horses, and we descended.
I had expected that a man of Isaacs' tastes and habits would not be
stingy about his horseflesh, and so was prepared for the character of
the animals that awaited us. They were two superb Arab stallions, one of
them being a rare specimen of the weight-carrying kind, occasionally
seen in the far East. Small head, small feet, and feather-tailed, but
broad in the quarters and deep in the chest, able to carry a
twelve-stone man for hours at the stretching, even gallop, that never
trembles and never tires; surefooted as a mule, and tender-tempered as a
baby.
So we mounted the gentle creatures and rode away. The mountain on which
Simla is situated has a double summit, like a Swiss peak, the one higher
than the other. On the lower height and the neck between the two is
built the town, and the bungalows used as offices and residences for the
Government officials cover a very considerable, area. "Jako," the higher
eminence, is thickly covered with a forest of primeval rhododendrons and
pines, and though there are outlying bungalows and villas scattered
about among the trees near the town, they are so far back from the main
road, reserved as I have said for the use of the Viceroy, as far as
driving is concerned, that they are not seen in riding along the shady
way; and on the opposite side, where the trees are thin, the magnificent
view looks far out over the spurs of the mountains, the only human
habitation visible being a Catholic convent, which rears its little
Italian _campanile_ against the blue sky, and rather adds to the beauty
of the scene than otherwise. As we rode along we continued our talk
about the new Afghan war, though neither of us was very much in the
humour for animated conversation. The sweet scent of the pines, the
matchless motion of the Arab, and the joyous feeling that the worst part
of the tropical year was passed, were enough for me, and I drank in the
high, rarefied air, with the intense delight of a man who has been
smothered with dust and heat, and then steamed to a jelly by a spring
and summer in the plains of Hindustan.
The road abounds in sharp turns, and I, as the heavier mount, rode on
the inside as we went round the mountain. On reaching the open part on
the farther side, we drew rein for a moment to look down at the deep
valleys, now dark with the early shade, at the higher peaks red with the
westering sun, and at the black masses of foliage, through which some
giant trunk here and there caught a lingering ray of the departing
light. Then, as we felt the cool of the evening coming on, we wheeled
and scampered along the level stretch, stirrup to stirrup and knee to
knee. The sharp corner at the end pulled us up, but before we had quite
reined in our horses, as delighted as we to have a couple of minutes'
straight run, we swung past the angle and cannoned into a man ambling
peaceably along with his reins on one finger and his large gray felt hat
flapping at the back of his neck. There was a moment's confusion,
profuse apologies on our part, and some ill-concealed annoyance on the
part of the victim, who was, however, only a little jostled and taken by
surprise.
"Really, sir," he began. "Oh! Mr. Isaacs. No harm done, I assure you,
that is, not much. Bad thing riding fast round corners. No harm, no
harm, not much. How are you?" all in a breath.
"How d'ye do! Mr. Ghyrkins; my friend Mr. Griggs."
"The real offender," I added in a conciliatory tone, for I had kept my
place on the inside.
"Mr. Griggs?" said Mr. Currie Ghyrkins. "Mr. Griggs of Allahabad? _Daily
Howler?_ Yes, yes, corresponded; glad to see you in the flesh."
I did not think he looked particularly glad. He was a Revenue
Commissioner residing in Mudnugger; a rank Conservative; a regular old
"John Company" man, with whom I had had more than one tiff in the
columns of the _Howler,_ leading to considerable correspondence.
"I trust that our collision in the flesh has had no worse results than
our tilts in print, Mr. Ghyrkins?"
"Not at all. Oh don't mention it. Bad enough, though, but no harm done,
none whatever," pulling up and looking at me as he pronounced the hist
two words with a peculiarly English slowness after a very quick
sentence.
While he was speaking, I was aware of a pair of riders walking their
horses toward us, and apparently struggling to suppress their amusement
at the mishap to the old gentleman, which they must have witnessed. In
truth, Mr. Ghyrkins, who was stout and rode a broad-backed obese "tat,"
can have presented no very dignified appearance, for he was jerked half
out of the saddle by the concussion, and his near leg, returning to its
place, had driven his nether garment half way to his knee, while the
large felt hat was settling back on to his head at a rakish angle, and
his coat collar had gone well up the back of his neck.
"Dear uncle," said the lady as she rode up, "I hope you are not hurt?"
She was very handsome as she sat there trying not to laugh. A lithe
figure in a gray habit and a broad-brimmed hat, fair as a Swede, but
with dark eyes and heavy lashes. Just then she was showing her brilliant
teeth, ostensibly in delight at her dear uncle's escape, and her whole
expression was animated and amused. Her companion was a soldierly
looking young Englishman, with a heavy moustache and a large nose. A
certain devil-may-care look about his face was attractive as he sat
carelessly watching us. I noticed his long stirrups and the curb rein
hanging loose, while he held the snaffle, and concluded he was a cavalry
officer. Isaacs bowed low to the lady and wheeled his horse. She replied
by a nod, indifferent enough; but as he turned, her eyes instantly went
back to him, and a pleasant thoughtful look passed over her face, which
betrayed at least a trifling interest in the stranger, if stranger he
were.
All this time Mr. Ghyrkins was talking and asking questions of me. When
had I come? what brought me here? how long would I stay? and so on,
showing that whether friendly or not he had an interest in my movements.
In answering his questions I found an opportunity of calling the Queen
the "Empress," of lauding Lord Beaconsfield's policy in India, and of
congratulating Mr. Ghyrkins upon the state of his district, with which
he had nothing to do, of course; but he swallowed the bait, all in a
breath, as he seemed to do everything. Then he introduced us.
"Katharine, you know Mr. Isaacs; Mr. Griggs, Miss Westonhaugh, Lord
Steepleton Kildare, Mr. Isaacs."
We bowed and rode back together over the straight piece we passed before
the encounter. Isaacs and the Englishman walked their horses on each
side of Miss Westonhaugh, and Ghyrkins and I brought up the rear. I
tried to turn the conversation to Isaacs, but with little result.
"Yes, yes, good fellow Isaacs, for a fire-worshipper, or whatever he is.
Good judge of a horse. Lots of rupees too. Queer fish. By-the-bye, Mr.
Griggs, this new expedition is going to cost us something handsome, eh?"
"Why, yes. I doubt whether you will get off under ten millions sterling.
And where is it to come from? You will have a nice time making your
assessments in Bengal, Mr. Ghyrkins, and we shall have an income-tax and
all sorts of agreeable things."
"Income-tax? Well, I think not. You see, Mr. Griggs, it would hit the
members of the council, so they won't do it, for their own sakes, and
the Viceroy too. Ha, ha, how do you think Lord Lytton would like an
income-tax, eh?" And the old fellow chuckled.
We reached the end of the straight, and Isaacs reined in and bid Miss
Westonhaugh and her companion good evening. I bowed from where I was,
and took Mr. Ghyrkins' outstretched hand. He was in a good humour again,
and called out to us to come and see him, as we rode away. I thought to
myself I certainly would; and we paced back, crossing the open stretch
for the third time.
It was almost dark under the trees as we re-entered the woods; I pulled
out a cheroot and lit it. Isaacs did the same, and we walked our horses
along in silence. I was thinking of the little picture I had just seen.
The splendid English girl on her thoroughbred beside the beautiful Arab
steed and his graceful rider. What a couple, I thought: what noble
specimens of great races. Why did not this fiery young Persian, with his
wealth, his beauty, and his talents, wed some such wife as that, some
high-bred Englishwoman, who should love him and give him home and
children--and, I was forced to add, commonplace happiness? How often
does it happen that some train of thought, unacknowledged almost to
ourselves, runs abruptly into a blind alley; especially when we try to
plan out the future life of some one else, or to sketch for him what we
should call happiness. The accidental confronting of two individuals
pleases the eye, we unite them in our imagination, carrying on the
picture before us, and suddenly we find ourselves in a quagmire of
absurd incongruities. Now what could be more laughable than to suppose
the untamed, and probably untameable young man at my side, with his
three wives, his notions about the stars and his Mussulman faith, bound
for life to a girl like Miss Westonhaugh? A wise man of the East trying
to live the life of an English country gentleman, hunting in pink and
making speeches on the local hustings! I smiled to myself in the dark
and puffed at my cigar.
Meanwhile Isaacs was palpably uneasy. First he kicked his feet free of
the stirrups, and put them back again. Then he hummed a few words of a
Persian song and let his cigar go out, after which he swore loudly in
Arabic at the eternal matches that never would light. Finally he put his
horse into a hand gallop, which could not last on such a road in the
dark, and at last he broke down completely in his efforts to do
impossible things, and began talking to me.
"You know Mr. Ghyrkins by correspondence, then?"
"Yes, and by controversy. And you, I see, know Miss Westonhaugh?"
"Yes; what do you think of her?"
"A charming creature of her type. Fair and English, she will be fat at
thirty-five, and will probably paint at forty, but at present she is
perfection--of her kind of course," I added, not wishing to engage my
friend in the defence of his three wives on the score of beauty.
"I see very little of Englishwomen," said Isaacs. "My position is
peculiar, and though the men, many of whom I know quite intimately,
often ask me to their houses, I fancy when I meet their women I can
detect a certain scorn of my nationality, a certain undefinable manner
toward me, by which I suppose they mean to convey to my obtuse
comprehension that I am but a step better than a 'native'--a 'nigger' in
fact, to use the term they love so well. So I simply avoid them, as a
rule, for my temper is hasty. Of course I understand it well enough;
they are brought up or trained by their fathers and husbands to regard
the native Indian as an inferior being, an opinion in which, on the
whole, I heartily concur. But they go a step farther and include all
Asiatics in the same category. I do not choose to be confounded with a
race I consider worn out and effete. As for the men, it is different.
They know I am rich and influential in many ways that are useful to them
now, and they hope that the fortunes of war or revolution may give them
a chance of robbing me hereafter, in which they are mistaken. Now there
is our stout friend, whom we nearly brought to grief a few minutes ago;
he is always extremely civil, and never meets me that he does not renew
his invitation to visit him."
"I should like to see something more of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins myself. I do
not believe he is half as bad as I thought. Do you ever go there?"
"Sometimes. Yes, on second thoughts I believe I call on Mr. Currie
Ghyrkins pretty often." Then after a pause he added, "I like her."
I pointed out the confusion of genders. Isaacs must have smiled to
himself in the gloom, but he answered quietly--
"I mean Miss Westonhaugh. I like her--yes, I am quite sure I do. She is
beautiful and sensible, though if she stays here much longer she will be
like all the rest. We will go and see them to-morrow. Here we are; just
in time for dinner. Come and smoke afterwards."
* * * * *