VOYAGE TO INDIA--HYDERABAD
I must go back a little in these mixed memories to record our early
acquaintance with Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, who afterwards became one of our
great friends. I believe that I first met him at Lady St. Helier's (then
Lady Jeune) at a luncheon or party in 1886. We asked him to dinner at 3
Great Stanhope Street, and he accepted--and we also asked the Jeunes. Mr.
Chamberlain, though this was about the time that he split with Gladstone
over Home Rule, was still regarded as a dangerous Radical, and was by no
means universally met in Conservative houses. As it happened he arrived at
our dinner a little before the Jeunes. As they were announced I went to
the drawing-room door to meet them and she stopped me, and said in a low
voice before entering the room, "You are coming to dine with me on such a
date--shall you mind meeting Mr. Chamberlain?" (She had quite forgotten
our meeting at her house.) "He is in the house," was my reply--whereat she
gasped and nearly fell backwards. I well recollect the stern disapproval
of our old-fashioned Tory butler Freeman. He showed it in his manner,
though he did not venture at the moment to put it into words--but a few
days afterwards we had another dinner at which were present some of our
regular--and I am sure highly respectable--friends. The following morning
Freeman said to me solemnly, "We had a very nice dinner last night."
"Yes," said I, "I think it went off very well." "_All very nice people_,"
he added with marked emphasis, and left me to digest the unspoken rebuke.
Freeman was a great character and his comments were apt to be amusing. The
year after this incident Lord Robert Cecil spent a Sunday at Osterley, and
after the party had left on Monday Freeman informed me that there was only
one thing that had troubled him. In reply to my rather anxious inquiry as
to what had gone wrong he said: "That fine young fellow Lord Salisbury's
son did not hold himself up properly. I spoke to his servant about it, and
he said it was his book. I said our young lord [Villiers] is very clever,
but I hope he will hold himself up." Poor Freeman! he was rather a rough
diamond in some respects, but one of the best and most faithful of
servants. He caught a chill and died early in 1894, soon after our return
from Australia.
[Sidenote: HADJI PETROS]
To return to Mr. Chamberlain. Though already twice a widower he was still
regarded politically as a young man, and I remember the American Minister
Mr. Phelps assuring me that he had watched in the House of Commons Mr.
Gladstone snub Chamberlain in a way that he was convinced had a good deal
to do with his breach with the Liberal party. I doubt that being more than
a very secondary cause, but I perfectly recall the acrimonious tone in
which Mr. Chamberlain early in our acquaintance commented on the way in
which politicians were treated "because they were young." Anyhow, Mr.
Chamberlain not only asserted himself as worthy of all consideration
politically, but he rapidly discarded socially his stern views of those
whom he had formerly stigmatised as "lilies of the field." The late Sir
Cecil Spring Rice once told me that he and Mr. Chamberlain had been thrown
together a good deal on some occasion in America, and the latter had
confided to him that he had really believed that the so-called "upper
classes" were, taken as a whole, the idle, selfish, self-indulgent, and
generally pernicious people whom he had denounced, but that when he came
to know them he realised that they were a very different set of
individuals. I have always held that Mr. Chamberlain was an honest man,
and that when people accused him of changing his coat his changes were the
result of conviction. He once said to me that he had invariably held that
the people ought to have what they really wanted, and that more than once
he had discovered that he was mistaken in what he had previously imagined
to be their desires, and that then he was willing to follow their lead.
"For instance," he said, "I thought the country wanted Secular Education
and therefore advocated it, but experience showed me that this was not the
case and I therefore ceased to support it." Of course this principle may
be pushed too far. A statesman ought to have some convictions from which
he cannot and will not depart, but it would be absurd to say that a man
entering political life is bound to have a cut-and-dried programme which
nothing will make him modify. Moreover Mr. Chamberlain had grown up in a
narrow commercial circle, and larger knowledge of men and manners was
bound to widen his views. On the first occasion that he stayed with us at
Osterley in June 1887 and June 1888 his daughter Miss Beatrice Chamberlain
came with him. I see by our old Visitors' Book that we had some very good
Conservatives to meet them--in 1888 Lady Lathom and her daughter Maud,
George Curzon, Lord and Lady Kintore, Sir John Stirling Maxwell, and my
husband's cousin, Prince Louis Esterhazy. I have been told that more than
one person first saw Mr. Chamberlain rowing on the Lake at Osterley in a
tall hat and with a pipe in his mouth! I rather think that it was at a
garden party. In 1888 just after the death of the Emperor Frederick almost
everyone appeared in mourning, which somebody said made it look like a
funeral wake tempered with strawberries. Poor Beatrice Chamberlain,
however, appeared in a sort of plaid gown which made her very unhappy. She
confided to Lady Lathom that she had just returned from France and had not
known that people were wearing mourning--moreover she belonged to some
society in Birmingham (a very sensible one) which agreed not to wear
mourning except for quite the nearest relatives. She was afraid we might
think that her clothes were due to her Radical principles, which we
certainly did not. She became a very talented and distinguished woman, and
her death, a few years ago, was a loss to many good causes. I was much
touched by a letter which she wrote me after my husband died in 1915 in
which she said that he and I had been kind to her "particularly in the
long-ago days when I, not so very young, but so very raw, was keeping
house for papa and came with him into this strange, unknown, and uncharted
world of London." We had done little enough, and it was very nice of her
to preserve such a recollection for over a quarter of a century.
Next year when Mr. Chamberlain stayed with us he had married the charming
Miss Endicott, now Mrs. Carnegie, but I shall have more to say of them
both later on.
[Sidenote: DEPARTURE FOR INDIA]
I must now record some recollections of the first of our three visits to
India.
The idea of such a journey arose from my seeing Mr. Robert Bourke in a
hansom as I was driving late in the season of 1886. He waved to me and I
stopped to hear what he had to say. "I want to talk to you and Jersey,"
said he. "Very well," I said; "come down to Osterley and you will find us
both at such a time." It was accordingly arranged, and he told us that
Lord Salisbury had offered him the Government of Madras. He was somewhat
upset, as he had been Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs when Lord
Salisbury was Secretary of State for that Department, and when the latter
became Prime Minister Mr. Bourke thought that he ought to have had higher
promotion, and regarded this offer rather as exile. However, on talking it
all over he began to paint the gubernatorial glories in more roseate hues,
and my husband and I both recommended him to accept, as we neither of us
thought in our hearts that he was likely to attain Cabinet rank in
England. Then he said, "If I go, will you come out and stay with me?" It
was a new but attractive project, and we gave a provisional promise which
we fulfilled in the autumn of 1888. My parents undertook to keep an eye on
the younger children and to have them at Stoneleigh for part of our
absence--it was arranged that Villiers should join us when his Christmas
holidays began, and the Eton authorities consented that he should miss the
following term as it was thought that India would be equally educational.
We accordingly took our passages on the P. and O. _Arcadia_, which left
Marseilles on Friday, October 26th. My brother Dudley and Mr. Charles
Buller sailed in the same ship, which was a new one and had improvements
then reckoned very novel. For instance, it had electric light, which had
not yet been installed in all the P. and O. fleet. There were about 240
first-class passengers--some entertaining ones among them, including Sir
Samuel and Lady Baker, Captain Hext, who was Director of Indian Marine,
and Mr. and Mrs. Gerard Leigh. In the second saloon was the theosophist
Colonel Olcott--an odd mixture of philanthropy and humbug--but discussions
with him often served to pass the time. One was not allowed to ask a
second-saloon passenger for meals, but we had permission for him to come
and talk to us, and also to give two theosophical lectures in the
first-class saloon. I shall have more to say of him at Madras--but the
inner meaning of theosophy is so often discussed that I insert here the
way in which he presented it as I noted in my journal after one of his
lectures given when we were nearing Port Said:
"Colonel Olcott gave a lecture on the Theosophical Society of which he
is President. The Society has its headquarters in Madras"
(N.B.--really at Adyar near Madras) "and has three chief
objects--Universal Brotherhood, Study of ancient oriental texts,
Investigation of hidden psychical forces. It admits members of any
religion, but requires universal toleration. Practically its own
tenets are Buddhist, that being rather a philosophy than a religion.
It professes, however, to assist its members to the better
comprehension of the esoteric or underlying significations of their
respective religions."
Colonel Olcott himself was a Buddhist, and moreover laid claim to certain
powers of healing, which I should imagine, in so far as they were
effectual, were a kind of faith healing; he went beyond M. Coue, as he
declared that he had healed a blind man! Mrs. Gerard Leigh gravely asked
him one day whether he could give her something to protect her against
spooks, as she often had to stay in a house which she believed to be
haunted. "Give me something you are accustomed to wear," he said, and she
handed him a ring. He stared at it, and said, "If you could see--you would
see two rays" (blue rays I think he said) "going from my eyes into this
ring." "What will it do?" she asked. "Well," was the answer, "it will be
like a hand laid on your head to protect you." If she remembered it next
time a spook was about, I feel sure that it was most effectual. "Your
ring," he said to one of us, "came out of a jeweller's shop--mine came out
of a rose," and told us a pleasing legend of how his sister held a rose
and Madame Blavatsky conjured a ring out of it.
[Sidenote: COL. OLCOTT AND PROF. MAX MULLER]
He had very exalted philanthropic views, and long afterwards, when he was
in England, Professor Max Mueller told me that he had said to him, "Colonel
Olcott, with all your fine ideas for doing good how can you lend yourself
to that nonsense of broken tea-cups and so on?" "And," continued Max
Mueller, "he looked down through his funny blue spectacles and answered,
'All religions must be manured'--which surely gave away the whole show."
Colonel Olcott was extremely anxious to enlist me as a member of the
Theosophical Society, assuring me that he only wanted my signature to a
document which he would keep privately, "not for publication." What good
it would do him in that case is not very apparent, but the net was spread
in vain in the sight of the bird as far as I was concerned. Years
afterwards he reappeared at Sydney and renewed his appeal in the following
pathetic--but still unsuccessful--verses:
"_To our Lady of Leigh_
Only a paper,
A very short paper,
An innocent paper,
My lady, to sign,
Expressing your int'rest,
Your broad-minded int'rest,
Your psychical int'rest,
In this work of mine.
Sign: I entreat you,
Bishops will greet you,
Clergy beseech you,
Lady, to join
This league confraternal
To seek the eternal--
_Not_ the infernal--
Basis of truth!
H. S. O."
SYDNEY, 7th May 1891.
Another, still more generally interesting, fellow-voyager on the _Arcadia_
was, as already mentioned, Sir Samuel Baker, who, with his intrepid wife,
was making one of his frequent journeys to India. He enlivened many hours
which might have proved tedious by stories of his African adventures, and
was always surrounded by an interested circle of listeners. He told how on
his expedition to the sources of the White Nile he had met two tattered
figures which proved to be Speke and Grant coming back from tracing that
part of the river which flowed from the Victoria Nyanza. They urged him to
continue his undertaking as they said that if he also found the source he
was seeking "England will have done it"--and she did. He asked them to
come into his camp--but they hung back--and when he asked why they
explained that they heard he had Mrs. Baker with him, and were in such
rags that they did not like to present themselves before a lady!
Nevertheless they were induced not to treat the desert like a London
drawing-room, and the lady laughed and mended their clothes for them. Sir
Samuel loved to tell stories of his wife's heroism and self-possession in
more than one critical juncture. With all her adventures she had remained
a very simple and charming woman.
[Sidenote: SIR SAMUEL BAKER]
When we were passing the Arabian Coast of the Gulf of Suez Sir Samuel
Baker pointed out Mount Sinai, though some people pretend that you can
only see its whereabouts--not the Mountain itself. He told us a great deal
of Moses' adventures--from Josephus, I believe--but he also said that he
himself had seen all the Plagues of Egypt, though he said that for "lice"
one should read "ticks"! We asked how about the Darkness? He said he had
been in a Khamsin wind when for twenty minutes you could not see the flame
of a candle close by; and as for the "first-born," when plague or cholera
swept off families they only cared about the first-born, the second- or
third-born did not count. He and Lady Baker were also very amusing about
the visits to Egypt of the Princess of Wales and the Empress Eugenie
respectively.
We had a mild excitement in the Gulf of Aden when a man played the
"Boulanger" hymn during dinner. No one now would recognise the "Boulanger"
hymn, as the hero of the black horse is forgotten, but then the Germans
hissed and the French applauded. The captain was appealed to, and sent
word to "tell the man to stop that noise"--a message which the steward
delivered too accurately to please the performer!
I do not describe any of the sights which we saw either at the Ports or at
sea, much as they thrilled such unaccustomed oriental travellers as
ourselves. Most people now are familiar with the voyage either from
personal experience or from oral or written descriptions. I have made it
several times since, and, bad sailor as I am, only wish I were young
enough to undertake it again. Our cicerones treated us mercifully, but I
believe some greenhorns are not so fortunate. I heard of one youth who was
warned in advance that the sailors and others were sure to try to take
him in. He was told several facts concerning the places and people which
they passed--these he absolutely refused to believe. At last someone
pointed out rocks in the sea near Suez and said, "Those are the wheels of
Pharaoh's chariots." "Ah, that I know is true," said the youth, "for it's
in the Bible."
We arrived at Bombay on the morning of November 10th, and were as
delighted as are most visitors with the glitter and glow of the city with
its swarming and varied population. The Yacht Club was a cool and pleasant
resort--and we visited the Arab horse-market, the Towers of Silence, and
other well known sights. Particularly were we impressed with the curious
Caverns on the Island of Elephanta, with the gigantic figures carved in
high relief. Few could help being awed by the three immense heads joined
together in the Central Division of the great Central Hall, representing
Brahma, Siva, and Vishnu. I was specially interested in the designs
representing the story of the favourite Hindu deity Ganpati or Ganesha.
You see the marriage of his parents Siva and Parvati, his birth, and a
battle among the gods and demons in the course of which he had his head
cut off. His irate mother substituted an elephant's head and declared that
she, the Mother of Nature, would upset everything unless gods and men
worshipped him in this guise--and he now appears as God of Wisdom. Another
version is that Siva himself cut off his son's head, mistaking him for an
intruder in his mother's apartments. However that may be, the lower class
of Hindu have adopted him as a favourite deity, and we were told of a
great festival in February when they flock to the Caves with offerings of
coco-nuts, rice, and leaves.
Our travelling-companion Captain Hext was most kind to us in Bombay, and a
Parsee, Mr. Allbless, showed us something of the life of that community.
[Sidenote: MAHABLESHWAR]
From Bombay, after a night at Poona, we went to Mahableshwar to stay with
our kind friends, Lord and Lady Reay, he being at that time Governor of
the Bombay Presidency. We left the train at Wathar and a drive of about
five hours through magnificent scenery brought us to our destination soon
after seven in the evening of November 14th. We were greatly struck by the
huge square-topped mountains towering in giant terraces above fertile,
well-watered valleys. The soil was generally deep brown or deep red. As
darkness came on we saw quantities of fire-flies amongst the luxuriant
vegetation. Next morning the view from the house across the valley to a
gigantic square-topped mountain beyond was so dazzling as almost to take
away one's breath. Few things are so impressive as to arrive after dark at
an unknown dwelling, and to awaken in the morning to a new world of
glorious scenery quivering in sunshine and colour. I recall two instances
of the same awaking to the joy of natural beauty previously
unsuspected--once at Glengariff and once at Mahableshwar. The soft
radiance of Southern Ireland was very different from the almost violent
colouring of India, but the sudden delight was the same.
We spent a very happy six days at Mahableshwar and saw all sorts of
interesting people and places, including the haunts of the great Mahratta
Chieftain Sivaji. Our introduction to Indian hill-life could not have been
made under pleasanter auspices nor with kinder hosts.
The Duke of Connaught was then Commander-in-Chief of the Bombay
Presidency troops. H.R.H. and the Duchess lived near the Reays, and they
were also very good to us. Lady Patricia Ramsay was then a most attractive
little girl of two years old. The older children were in England. The
Duke, here as elsewhere, had a great reputation as a soldier.
When we visited Pertab Ghur, one of Sivaji's thirty-one mountain
fortresses, we were told with amazement that the Duke and his officers had
lately brought a battery of mule artillery up the steep hill leading
thereto. This fort had an arched gateway almost concealed in the
hill-side, with a door covered with iron spikes. About fifty people live
in the fort, and when they saw the battery approaching they took the
soldiers for dacoits and shut the gates against them.
[Sidenote: H.H. THE AGA KHAN]
One visitor to Lord and Lady Reay while we were with them was the Aga
Khan, since so widely known, but then a boy of about thirteen who was
brought by his uncle to pay his respects to the Governor. The story of his
ancestry as told to me at the time was as follows. Some generations ago a
Hindu announced a tenth Avatar, or Incarnation, of Vishnu, and persuaded a
number of people to give him offerings for the Avatar. At last, however,
the devotees became tired of parting with their goods for an unseen deity
and insisted that the Avatar should be shown to his disciples. The Hindu
agreed, and selected a deputation of two hundred, whom he conducted on a
sort of pilgrimage through Northern India seeking for a suitable
representative who would consent to play the required part. At last they
reached the borders of Persia, and there he heard of a holy man belonging
to the then Royal Family who would, he thought, fulfil all the
requirements. Before introducing his followers he contrived a private
interview with the Imaun (as I believe he was called) and offered to hand
over to him all the disciples and their future offerings if he would
assume the character of an Avatar and pretend to have received those
already given. The Princely Saint consented on condition that the Hindu
believers should become Mohammedans--no doubt this wholesale conversion to
the true faith overcame any scruples which he may have felt concerning the
requisite trivial deception. Thus arose the sect of the Khojahs, Hindu--or
at least Indian--Mohammedans, acknowledging the spiritual headship of this
Persian Avatar and his descendants. Some say that this Imaun was one of
the tribe or order of the Assassins of whom the Old Man of the Mountains
was chief in the time of the Crusades. It was declared that each head of
Aga Khan's family was assassinated in turn, and that his life would be
sacrificed in due course to make way for his successor. However, I hope
that is not true, as I have known him for over thirty years and saw him
very much alive not long ago.
When we met at Mahableshwar he was a stout youth with dark eyes and hair
and a very composed manner. His father, who had died before our interview,
did not want the boy in childhood to know of his semi-divine character as
he justly thought that it would not be very good for him, but the boy was
too acute to be kept in the dark. His mother was a Persian princess, and
he is immensely rich from offerings made to himself and his ancestors.
Even in boyhood he was called "His Highness," that title having been given
him in 1896--but the rank and salute of a chief of the Bombay Presidency
was not granted till 1916, as he is not a territorial prince, but owes his
wealth and immense influence to the large numbers both in India and
Zanzibar who acknowledge his spiritual sway.
We were told that he sometimes had a milk bath and that his followers were
then allowed to drink the milk in which he had bathed! Lord Reay asked
whether he would have to fast in Ramadan, but he said not till he was
fifteen. I asked what was done to people if they did not keep the fast. He
said nothing in India, but in Persia the Moollahs beat defaulters.
When Aga Khan grew up he managed to reconcile his followers to the
orthodox Mohammedan faith. He traces his descent from Mohammed's
son-in-law Ali. What his private religious views may have been is
impossible to say; I should think he was really a Mohammedan, but
considered it necessary to allow his followers to regard him as
semi-divine. He was supposed in after years to have said to his friends
that he could drink wine if he liked because his devotees were made to
believe that his throat was so holy that it changed to water on touching
it--and he added that "being a god was not all beer and skittles!" I must
say that when he sat near me at dinner at Osterley he did not drink wine.
He was once dining there when in England for King Edward's coronation, and
I told him that the Sikh High-Priest was reported to have said that he did
not like to be mixed up with "these secular persons" and wanted to hold
the robe of the Archbishop of Canterbury on the occasion. Aga Khan
comically protested against such an invasion of his ecclesiastical status,
and said in that case he should complain to the King and go back to India!
From Mahableshwar a journey of two days and a night brought us to
Hyderabad (Deccan)--where we stayed at the Residency with the
Acting-Resident Mr. Howell and his wife. We were enchanted with
Hyderabad--a real typical Native State and extraordinarily picturesque. We
saw various interesting examples of native life and tradition both in the
pauses on our journey and from the train. As we drew near Hyderabad there
were numbers of immense syenite stones piled on each other or scattered
over the plain. Legend says that when Rama was pursuing the giant Ravana
who had carried off Siva he enlisted the aid of the monkey-god Hanuman and
his army to make a bridge to Ceylon. The monkeys carried rocks from the
Himalayas, but not unnaturally became pretty tired by the time they
reached the Deccan and let a good many fall, which may still be seen
scattered about.
[Sidenote: RACES AT HYDERABAD]
Hyderabad is largely Mohammedan, and the Nizam has a considerable army,
including a regiment of negro cavalry and a good many Arabs. We were
fortunate in seeing a race-meeting the day after our arrival, and this
gathering of natives in all their variety of costume and colour was
dazzling to our unaccustomed eyes. The populace swarmed in the trees and
clustered round the boundary of the course, but even more brilliant were
the garments of the native nobles and gentlemen who walked about in the
ring and gathered in the grandstand. They wore long coats of every
conceivable hue and of rich materials, flowered red and green and gold
silk, purple velvet or embroidered white, with gold-worked belts, bright
turbans, and sometimes swords. There were little boys gaily dressed like
their fathers, riders in white muslin with black and gold turbans, on
prancing horses with tails dyed pink, others carrying little flags at the
end of spears; Arabs of the Nizam's bodyguard with high boots and green,
red, dark-blue, and gold costumes and striped floating round their heads,
and the Nizam's syces in yellow and blue.
The Nizam himself, an effete individual, had a red fez, a pearl
watch-chain, and dazzling emerald rings, but was otherwise in European
dress. Around him were the gentlemen of his Court, salaaming to him and to
each other with strictly Oriental etiquette, and mingled with them English
officers, ladies and civilians. Flags were flying surmounted by the Union
Jack, and a band played, ending up with "God save the Queen." The jockeys
were some English and some native, the owners English, Parsee, and
Mohammedan.
A hot Indian sun made the scene glow with golden warmth during the
afternoon and with rosy pink as it set in the evening with the unexpected
rapidity which is almost startling until use has made it familiar. I was
talking a few days later to an Indian gentleman about his visit to
England, and he said what he did not like was the light, which interfered
with his sleeping. Light is the last thing of which I should have expected
England to be accused, but there is in India no great variety in the
length of night and day all the year round, so my friend was unaccustomed
to the very early dawn of an English summer day. Not long ago I heard of
an English coachman employed in America. He, on being asked his opinion of
the States, said he did not like two things--they had no twilight and said
the Lord's Prayer wrong (i.e. "Who art" instead of "Which art"). It is
difficult to satisfy the physical and theological prejudices of an alien
in any land.
[Sidenote: H.H. THE NIZAM OF HYDERABAD]
Jersey had been introduced to the Nizam the day following our arrival; I
made his acquaintance at the races, but found him singularly lacking in
animation. The only occasion on which I saw him aroused to anything like
interest was when we went to the Palace to see his jewels. He had
wonderful strings of pearls and emeralds, something like a tiara of
diamonds for the front of a turban, large single diamonds in rings, one
remarkable ruby engraved with the seals of the Moghul emperors, and an
uncut diamond valued at L720,000 which was as uninteresting to look at as
a pebble picked up on a beach. If I recollect rightly that diamond
afterwards played a part in a lawsuit. Jersey said something about black
pearls, which he happened to admire. The Nizam did not appear to notice
the remark, which was translated to him, but presently made a slight sign,
and with the ghost of a smile produced a little calico bag from which he
extracted a couple of these gems.
Poor man--he had _four thousand_ women shut up in his Zenana. That
included his father's wives and women servants as well as his own. Every
woman who becomes his wife begins with a monthly pension of 35 rupees,
which can, of course, be increased by his favour. There was a story going
when we were at Hyderabad that the women had, shortly before, inveigled
the Nizam into the depths of the Zenana and given him a good flogging! No
doubt strange things may happen in remote apartments where no male except
eunuchs may enter. The present Nizam is, I believe, an enlightened and
loyal ruler.
The City of Hyderabad was about eight miles in circumference, and as a
quarter was occupied by the Nizam's palatial buildings there was room and
to spare both for ladies and Court officials. The Nizam is of course
semi-independent, but the British Government exercises the ultimate
control. Fortunately, though the Nizam did not shine intellectually, he
had some very intelligent Ministers, notably Sir Salar Jung, who
exercised the chief control, and the very enlightened Director of
Education, Syed Hossain Bilgrami, who with his brother Seyd Ali had
originally come from Bengal and contrived to establish an intellectual
standard distinctly superior to that of many Native States. Amongst other
things Syed Hossain had set up a Zenana School for "purdah" girls of the
upper classes, which was at that time quite a new experiment in India.
When we saw it the head mistress was a Mrs. Littledale, a Christian Hindu
lady married to an Englishman. The main idea was that the young ladies
should be sufficiently educated to be real companions to the men whom they
were ultimately to marry. One of the pupils on the occasion of our visit
was a cousin of the Bilgramis engaged to one of Syed Hossain's sons. The
young man in question was then at Oxford, and understood to be anxious for
the education of his lady-love. The whole question of the higher education
of Indian women, particularly of those of the upper classes, bristles with
difficulties. It has much advanced in the thirty-three years which have
elapsed since our first visit to Hyderabad, but the problems have not yet
been by any means completely solved. If young women are educated up to
anything like a European standard they can hardly fail to be discontented
with continuous seclusion. On the other hand, if they are allowed to come
out of purdah and to mix freely with others of both sexes they will be
looked down upon by large sections of the community, and in many cases,
particularly among the ruling families, it will be difficult to arrange
suitable marriages for them. One sometimes wonders whether such complete
freedom as prevails in Western and Northern lands has been altogether
beneficial to their women, and the climate of India might make
unrestrained intercourse even more difficult. However, Parsee women are
not secluded, nor are the women of the quite low Indian castes.
[Sidenote: PURDAH LADIES]
As far as I could make out, opinions differed among the ladies themselves
as to whether they should or should not prefer to come out of purdah. Some
certainly considered that for husbands to allow it would be to show that
they did not properly value their wives. For instance, the Nizam's
aide-de-camp Ali Bey, a very active, intelligent soldier, told us that he
would not at all mind his wife seeing men or going about, but that she
would not wish it. On one occasion when the fort at Secunderabad was
brilliantly illuminated with electric lights for some festivity he offered
to drive her out late, when the people had gone, to see the effect, but
she declined. On the other hand, when we dined with the Financial
Secretary Mehdi Ali, and the ladies went afterwards into an inner
drawing-room to see Mrs. Mehdi Ali, she rather pathetically said to me in
perfect English: "I cannot go to call upon you, Lady Jersey. I am not a
woman, but a bird in a cage." It seemed rather absurd that she should be
secluded, for she was evidently highly educated, and I understood read
French as well as English. Her costume was somewhat interesting. Most of
the Moslem ladies wore trousers and were enveloped in a sari. Mrs. Mehdi
Ali had a gorgeous brocade garment specially designed by Howell & James,
which at a casual glance looked like an ordinary gown but somehow embraced
a "divided skirt."
I had an amusing breakfast with the sisters of Sir Salar Jung and his
brother the Munir-ul-Mulk. We had dined the previous evening at a gorgeous
banquet with the brothers, and the ladies of the party, including Lady
Galway, Mrs. Howell, and five others, were invited for eleven o'clock the
following morning to the Zenana in the same Palace. Of course brothers may
be present with their sisters. With a truly Oriental disregard of time the
Munir appeared about 11.25, the ladies still later. The Munir was attired
in an azure blue coat embroidered with silver. The materials of the most
gorgeous men's coats were imported from Paris--and their fezes chiefly
came from Lincoln & Bennett's in London.
As for the ladies, they generally wore stockings and over them long
drawers or breeches, fitting tightly to the lower part of the leg and very
full above. They had jackets and voluminous scarves called "chuddars." I
believe the breeches were sewn on! One of the sisters wore yellow as a
prevailing colour, and had bare arms and feet. The other had a magnificent
gold embroidered crimson velvet jacket, a green chuddar, and pink
stockings. These ladies were both married, but the husband of one was in a
lunatic asylum. There was also present a female cousin, but she, being a
widow, was all in white and wore no jewels except one or two armlets.
[Sidenote: BREAKFAST IN A ZENANA]
Our breakfast was spread on a long table under the colonnade where we had
dined the previous night. We had then sat on chairs at a regular
dining-table, but this was only raised a few inches from the ground and we
sat on the floor, which was covered with a white cloth. The table was
thickly covered with piled-up dishes containing principally all kinds of
curry and rice cooked in different ways. Water was the main drink, but
anyone who liked could ask for coffee. Everyone had plates, and the
Englishwomen were provided with spoons and forks, but the Indian ladies
ate (very tidily) with their fingers, over which attendants poured water
after breakfast. The two sisters (half-sisters really) sat side by side,
and laughed and chattered incessantly. Miss White, a lady doctor who was
present, interpreted anything they had to say, but they were just merry,
talkative children with no real interest in anything beyond their clothes,
food, and jewels. Miss White said that they knew, and taught their
children, nothing. I should say that they were the most ignorant of all
the native ladies whom I have met in India, but certainly not the least
happy, and apparently quite contented.