BOMBAY.
The native city of Bombay is really an incredible sight. I walked
through some part of it I suppose every day for a week or more, trying
to photograph its shows upon my brain, yet every day it seemed more
brilliant and original than before--and I felt that description or even
remembrance were nothing to compare with the actual thing. The intense
light, the vivid colors, the extraordinarily picturesque life, the
bustle and movement; the narrow high tumbled houses with projecting
storeys, painted shutters, etc., and alleys simply _thronged_ with
people; the usual little shops with four or five men and boys squatted
in each, and multifarious products and traffic--gold and silver work
of excellent quality, elegant boxes and cabinets, all being produced
in full view of the public--embroidery and cap shops, fruit shops,
sweetmeat shops, cloth merchants, money-changers; such a chattering,
chaffering and disputing, jokes shouted across the street from shop
to shop; Hindu temples, mosques, opium dens, theatres, clubs; and at
night, lights and open casements and balconies above with similar
groups; handsome private houses too scattered about, but some of them
now converted into warehouses or lodging-houses, and looking dirty
enough.
[Illustration: STREET IN BOMBAY, NATIVE QUARTER.
(_Little shops on each side, a mosque on the left._)]
Imagine a great house towering above the rest, with projecting storeys
and balconies and casements--the top tiers nothing but painted wood
and glass, like the stern of a huge three-decker. The basement storey
is open and fronted with great carved wooden columns. Here are a few
plants standing, and among them--his gold-brown body thrown up against
the gloom behind--stands a young boy of eight or nine, nearly naked,
with silver wristlets and string of blue beads round his neck. The
next houses are low, only two or three storeys, and their basements
are let out in tiny shops only a few feet square each. Here squatted
among cushions, smoking his long pipe, sits an old money-lender with
white cap and frock and gold-rimmed spectacles. Near him are boys and
assistants, totting up accounts or writing letters on their knees. The
man is worth thousands of pounds, but his place of business is not
bigger than a dining-room table--and there are scores like him. The
next few shops are all silversmiths--four or five in each shop, couches
and cushions as before, and cabinets full of trinkets. Further on they
are hammering brass and copper--a score of shops at least consecutive.
Now we come to an archway, through which behold a large reservoir,
with people bathing. There is a Hindu temple here, and they do not
like us to enter; but under the arch sits an old ascetic. He has sat
cross-legged for so many years that he can take no other position;
sometimes for extra penance he gets them to lift him up and seat him on
a spiked board; but I fancy he is such a hardened old sinner that he
does not feel even that much! He is a well-known character in the city.
[Illustration: PARSEE WOMAN.]
A little farther on, in a balcony, is a group of girls, with
henna-black eyes, somewhat daintily got up, and on the look-out for
visitors. Now a covey of Parsee women and children comes by, brilliant
in their large silk wraps (for even the poorer Parsee females make a
point of wearing these)--pale-green, or salmon color, or blue--drawn
over their heads and depending even to their feet--their large
dark eyes shining with fire and intelligence, not the timid glance
of the general run of Indian women. Many of the Parsee fair ones,
indeed--especially of the well-to-do classes--are exceedingly handsome.
But the women generally in Bombay form quite a feature; for the
Mahrattas, who constitute the bulk of the population, do not shut up
their women, anymore than the Parsees do, and numbers of these--mostly
of course, though not exclusively, of the poorer classes--may be seen
moving quite freely about the streets: the Mahratta fisher-women for
instance, dressed not in the long depending cloak of the Parsees, but
in the ordinary Indian _sari_, which they wind gracefully about the
body, leaving their legs bare from the knees down. Of the Parsees I
understand that they are very helpful to each other as a community, and
while leaving their women considerable freedom are at pains to prevent
any of them falling through poverty into a life of prostitution.
If you take this general description of the native Bombay, and add
to it a handsome modern city, with fine Banks, Post and Government
offices, esplanades, parks, docks, markets, railway stations, etc.; and
then again add to that a manufacturing quarter with scores of chimneys
belching out smoke, ugly stretches of waste land, and all the dirt of
a Sheffield or Birmingham (only with coco-palms instead of oak-trees
shriveling in the blight); then distribute through it all a population,
mainly colored, but of every nation in the world, from sheerly naked
water-carriers and coolies to discreet long-raimented Parsees and
English “gentlemen and ladies”--you will have an idea of Bombay--the
most remarkable city certainly that I have visited in this part of the
world.
The Parsee nose is much in evidence here. You meet it coming round the
corner of the street long before its owner appears. It is not quite the
same as the Jewish, but I find it difficult to define the difference;
perhaps though larger it is a little suaver in outline--more _suaviter
in modo_, though not less _fortiter in re_. It is followed by a pair of
eyes well on the alert, which don’t miss anything that the nose points
out. At every turn you meet that same shrewd old gentleman with the
beautifully white under-raiment falling to his feet, and a long China
silk coat on, and black brimless hat--so collected and “all there”; age
dims not the lustre of his eye to biz. Somehow he strangely reminds
one of the neighborhood of the London Stock Exchange, only it is a face
of more general ability than you often see in the City.
[Illustration: PARSEE MERCHANTS.]
And (what also is more than can be said for his city _confrère_) he is
up early in the morning for his religious exercises. At sunrise you
may see him on the esplanades, maidans, and other open places, saying
his prayers with his face turned towards the east. He repeats or reads
in an undertone long passages, and then bows three times towards the
light; then sometimes turning round will seem to go through a similar
ceremony with his back to it. The peculiarity of the physiognomy
(not forgetting the nose of course) seems to lie in the depth of the
eye. This together with the long backward line of the eyelid gives a
remarkable look of intelligence and earnestness to the finer faces.
The younger Parsee is also very much to the fore--a smartish fellow
not without some Brummagem self-confidence--pushing in business and
in his efforts to join in the social life of the English; who in
revenge are liable to revile him as the ‘Arry of the East. Anyhow they
are a go-ahead people, these Cursetjees, Cowasjees, Pestonjees, and
Jejeebhoys, and run most of the cotton mills here (though one would
think that they _might_ manage to get on without quite so many “jees”).
Justice Telang spoke to me highly one day of them as a body--their
helpful brotherly spirit and good capacity and versatility. He said
however that they were not taking the lead in _business_ quite so much
as formerly, but turning rather more to political life.
Telang himself is a Mahratta--a sturdy well-fleshed man, of energy and
gentleness combined--able, sound, and sensible, I should say, with
good judgment and no humbug. He of course thinks the creation of a
united India a long and difficult affair: but does not seem to despair
of its possibility; acknowledges that the Mahomedan element is mostly
indifferent or unfriendly to the idea, but the Parsees are favorable.
I was in Telang’s court one day, and admired much the way he conducted
the business. On the whole I thought the English barristers present
showed up only feebly against the native judge and pleaders. I
certainly am inclined to think the educated oysters quite equal or if
anything superior to the Englishman in matters of pure intellect (law,
mathematics, etc.); where they are wanting--taking the matter quite in
bulk, and with many individual exceptions--is in that quality which is
expressed by the word _morale_; and it is that defect which prevents
them being able to make the best use of their brain power, or to hold
their own against us in the long run. So important is that quality. The
Anglo-Saxons, with deficient brains, have it in a high degree, and are
masters of the world.
I called another day on Tribhovan Das, who is head of the Bunyas
here--a large and influential merchant caste. He occupies the house
which belonged to his father, Sir Mungal Das, who was member of the
Bombay Legislative Council and a great man in his time both in wealth
and influence. The house is a large one standing in the native city.
We went and sat in state in a big drawing-room, and then made a tour
of the other reception rooms and the library, and solemnly inspected
and admired the works of art--oscillating models of ships in a storm,
pictures with musical boxes concealed behind them, a huge automatic
musical organ, wax-flowers and fruits in the library, fountains in the
garden, etc.--all quite in the style of the reception rooms of wealthy
natives twenty years or so ago. Tribhovan showed me over it all with
that mingled air of childlike pride and intense boredom which I have
noticed before in Orientals under the same circumstances; then took me
out for a drive in his swagger barouche, with white horses and men in
sky-blue livery--along the Malabar drive and up to the reservoir on the
hill-top, a very charming seaside road, and thronged at that hour on
Sunday evening with carriages and the motley aristocracy of the city.
The view from the reservoir is famous. The Malabar hill is a promontory
jutting southward into the sea, and occupied largely with villa
residences. Westward from its summit you look over the open ocean,
dotted with white sails; eastward, or south-eastward, across a narrow
bay, is seen the long spit of flat land on which modern mercantile
Bombay stands, with its handsome public buildings and long line of
esplanade already at that hour beginning to twinkle with lamps. Beyond
that spit again, and farther eastward, lies another much deeper and
larger bay, the harbor proper, with masts of ships just discernible;
and beyond that again are the hills of the mainland. At the base of the
spit and a little inland lies the native portion of Bombay--largely
hidden, from this point of view, by the masses of coco-nut trees which
grow along its outskirts and amongst its gardens.
Tribhovan said he would much like to come to England, but that as head
of the caste it was quite impossible. He told me that many people think
the Bunyas took their dress (the cylindrical stiff hat like an English
chimney-pot hat without a brim, and the long coat buttoned close round
the neck) from the Parsees; but it was just the opposite--the Parsees
when they came to India having adopted the dress of those Hindus
amongst whom they first found themselves, namely the Bunyas.
Whilst driving back through the city we came upon a marriage ceremony
going on--a garden full of lights, and crowds of people conversing and
taking refreshments. Two houses opened on the same garden, and one of
these was occupied for the occasion by the bridegroom and his friends,
and the other by the bride. This is the orthodox arrangement, enabling
the bridegroom to descend into the garden and go through the ceremony
of taking his bride; and my host explained that houses thus arranged
are often kept and let solely for this purpose--as few people have
houses and gardens of their own large enough for the array of guests
asked, or suitably built for the ceremony. In the thick of the city the
bridegroom will sometimes manage to hire or get the loan of a house
in the same street and opposite to that in which his bride dwells,
and then the street is turned into a temporary garden with ornamental
shrubs and branches, and lanterns are hung (for the ceremony is always
in the evening) and chairs placed in rows, and a large part of the
processions and festivities are as public as the gossips can desire.
All this adds much to the charm of life in this most picturesque city.
The native theatres here are a great institution--crowded mostly by
men and boys of the poorer sort--the performance a curious rambling
business, beginning about 9 p.m. and lasting say till 2 or 3 in the
morning! Murderous and sensational scenes carried out by faded girls
and weak ambrosial youths, and protracted in long-drawn agonies of
operatic caterwauling, with accompaniment of wondrous chromatic runs on
the _taus_ and a bourdon bass on some wind-instrument. Occasionally a
few sentences spoken form a great relief. What makes the performance so
long is the slowness of the action--worse even than our old-fashioned
opera; if the youth is madly in love with the girl he goes on telling
her so in the same “rag” for a quarter of an hour. Then she pretends
to be indifferent, and spurns him in another “rag” for fifteen minutes
more!
Another feature of Bombay now-a-days, and indeed of most of the towns
of India, including even quite small villages, is the presence and work
of the Salvation Army. I must say I am Philistine enough to admire
these people greatly. Here in this city I find “Captain” Smith and
young Jackson (who were on board ship with me coming out), working away
night and day in the “cause,” and always cheerfully and with a smile
on their faces--leading a life of extreme simplicity, penury almost,
having no wages, but only bare board and lodging--with no chance even
to return home if they get sick of the work, unless it were by the
General’s order. “I should have to work my way back on board ship if I
wanted to go, but I shall not want to go, I shall be happy here,” said
Jackson to me. These two at any rate I feel are animated by a genuine
spirit. Whatever one may think of their judgment or their philosophy, I
feel that they really care for the lowest and most despised people and
are glad to be friends and brothers with them--and after all that is
better philosophy than is written in the books. They adopt the dress of
the people and wear turbans and no shoes; and most of them merge their
home identity and adopt a native name. Of course it is easy to say this
is done out of mere religious conceit and bravado; but I am certain
that in many cases it springs from something much deeper than that.
One day I joined a party of five of them on their way to the Caves
of Elephanta--“Captain” and Mrs. Smith, “Sikandra” (Alexander), and
two others. Mrs. Smith is a nice-looking and real good woman of about
thirty years of age, and Sikandra is a boy of ability and feeling who
has been out here about three years. They were all as nice and natural
as could be (weren’t pious at all), and we enjoyed our day no end--a
three hours’ sail across the bay in a lateen-sailed boat with two
natives--the harbor a splendid sight, with its innumerable shipping,
native fish-boats, P. and O. and other liners, two or three ironclads,
forts, lighthouses, etc.--and then on beyond all that to the retired
side of the bay and the islands; picnic on Elephanta Island under the
shade of a great tamarind tree--visit to the caves, etc.; and return
across the water at sundown.
Very _Indian_ these islands--the hot smell of the ground covered with
dead grass and leaves, the faint aromatic odor of sparse shrubs, with
now and then a waft of delicious fragrance from the little white
jessamine, the thorns and cactus, palms, and mighty tamarinds dropping
their sweet-acid fruit. Then the sultry heat at midday, the sea lying
calm and blue below in haze, through which the ridged and rocky
mountains of the mainland indistinctly loom, and the far white sails of
boats; nearer, a few humped cows and a collection of primitive huts,
looking, from above, more like heaps of dead palm-leaves than human
habitations.
[Illustration: THE GREAT CAVE AT ELEPHANTA.
(_Some of the rock-pillars being restored, sculptured figures visible
in background._)]
The great cave impressed me very much. I have not seen any other of
these Indian rock-sanctuaries, but this one gave me a greater sense
of artistic power and splendid purpose than anything in the way of
religious architecture--be it mosque or Hindu temple--that I have seen
in India. It is about half-way up the hillside from the water, and
consists of a huge oblong hall, 50 yards square, cut sheerly into the
face of the rock, with lesser halls opening into it on each side. Huge
pillars of rock, boldly but symmetrically carved, are left in order to
support the enormous weight above; and the inner roof is flat--except
for imitations of architraves running from pillar to pillar. The
daylight, entering in mass from the front, and partly also by ingenious
arrangement from the sides, is broken by the many great pillars, and
subdues itself at last into a luminous gloom in the interior--where
huge figures of the gods, 18 feet high, in strong relief or nearly
detached, stand out from the walls all round. These figures are nobly
conceived and executed, and even now in their mutilated condition
produce an extraordinarily majestic effect, making the spectator fancy
that he has come into the presence of beings vastly superior to himself.
On the back wall immediately opposite the entrance are three huge
panels of sculpture--the most important objects in the temple. The
midmost of these consists of three colossal heads--Brahma, Vishnu
and Siva--united in one; Brahma of course full faced, the others in
profile. Each head with its surmounting tiara is some twelve feet
high, and the portions of the busts represented add another six feet.
The whole is cut deep into the rock so as to be almost detached; and
the expression of the heads--which are slightly inclined forwards--is
full of reserved power and dignity. It is Brahm, the unrealisable
and infinite god, the substratum of all, just dawning into multiple
existence--allowing himself to be seen in his first conceivable form.
In this trinity Vishnu of course represents the idea of Evolution--the
process by which the inner spirit unfolds and generates the universe of
sensible forms--as when a man wakes from sleep and lets his thoughts go
out into light and definition; Siva represents the idea of Involution,
by which thought and the sensible universe are indrawn again into
quiescence; and Brahma represents the state which is neither Evolution
nor Involution--and yet is both--existence itself, now first brought
into the region of thought through relation to Vishnu and Siva.
Each figure with a hand upturned and resting on the base of its neck
holds an emblem: Vishnu the lotus-flower of generation, Brahma the
gourd of fruition, and Siva a cobra, the “good snake” whose bite is
certain dissolution. Siva also has the third eye--the eye of the
interior vision of the universe, which comes to the man who adopts
the method of Involution. There is good reason to suppose, from marks
on the rock, that the recess in which this manifestation of deity is
carved was closed by a veil or screen, only to be drawn aside at times
of great solemnity. A hollow behind the triple head is pointed out, in
which it is supposed that a concealed priest could simulate the awful
tones of the god.
[Illustration: PANEL OF SIVA AND HIS CONSORT PARVATI, ELEPHANTA.]
Of the three forms of the trinity Siva is the most popular in Hindu
devotion, and he forms the centre figure of all the other panels here.
The panel on the right of the principal one just described portrays
the next devolution of godhead--namely into the form of humanity--and
represents Siva as a complete full length human being conjoining the
two sexes in one person. This idea, of the original junction of the
sexes, though it may be philosophically tenable, and though it is no
doubt supported by a variety of traditions--see the Bible, Plato,
etc.--and by certain interior experiences which have been noticed (and
which are probably the sources of tradition) is inartistic enough when
graphically portrayed; and the main figure of this panel, with its left
side projecting into a huge breast and hip, is only a monstrosity. As
to the sexual parts themselves they are unfortunately quite defaced.
The cloud of moving figures however around and above, who seem to be
witnessing this transformation, are very spirited.
The third panel--on the left of the principal one--in which the
differentiation is complete, and Siva and his consort Sakti or Parvati
are represented side by side as complete male and female figures, in
serene and graceful pose--he colossal and occupying nearly the centre
of the panel, she smaller and a little to one side--is a great success.
Round them in the space above their heads a multitude of striding
clean-legged figures bear witness to the energy of creation now fully
manifested in this glorious pair.
The rest of the panels though still colossal are on a slightly smaller
scale, and seem to represent the human-divine life of Siva: his actual
marriage, his abandonment of home, his contest with Rávana, his
terrible triumph over and slaughter of his enemies, his retirement
into solitude and meditation, and his ultimate reabsorption into
Brahm, figured by his frenzied dance in the “hall of illimitable
happiness”--that most favorite subject of the Hindu sculptors. This
last panel--though the legs and arms are all broken--has extraordinary
vigor and animation, and is one of the very best. The whole series
in fact, to those who can understand, is a marvelous panorama of the
human soul. The work is full of allegorical touches and hints, yet
hardly ever becomes grotesque or inartistic. It provides suggestions
of the profoundest philosophy, yet the rudest peasant walking through
these dim arcades could not but be affected by what he sees. In every
direction there are signs of “go” and primitive power which point to
its production as belonging to a time (probably about the 10th cent.
A.D.) of early vigor and mastery and of grand conception.
[Illustration: INTERIOR SHRINE, ELEPHANTA.]
I should not forget to mention that in a square chamber also hewn out
of the rock, but accessible by a door in each of the four sides, is a
huge lingam--which was probably also kept concealed except on great
occasions; and round the exterior walls of the chamber, looking down
the various aisles of the temple, are eight enormous guardian figures,
of fine and composed workmanship. (See illustration--in which a man
is standing beneath the torso of the nearest figure.) Altogether the
spirit of the whole thing is to my mind infinitely finer than that of
the South Indian temples, which with their courts and catacomb-like
interiors suggest no great ideas, but only a general sense of mystery
and of Brahmanical ascendancy.
_March 6th._--A little after sunset yesterday “Sikandra” took me to
see an opium den in the native quarter. It was rather early, as the
customers were only just settling in, but the police close these places
at nine. Much what I expected. A dark dirty room with raised wide bench
round the sides, on which folk could lie, with little smoky lamps for
them to burn their opium. For three pice you get a little thimbleful of
laudanum, and by continually taking a drop on the end of a steel prong
and frizzling it in the flame you at last raise a viscid lump hardly as
big as a pea, which you put in a pipe, and then holding the mouth of
the pipe in the flame, draw breath. Two or three whiffs of thick smoke
are thus obtained--and then more stuff has to be prepared; but the
poison soon begins to work, and before long the smoker lies motionless,
with his eyes open and his pipe dropping out of his hand. I spoke to
a man who was just preparing his dose, and who looked very thin and
miserable, asking him if he did not find it damage his health; but he
said that he could not get along without it--if he gave it up for a day
or two he could not do his work, and felt nervous and ill.
The effect of these drugs, opium, haschisch (hemp or ganja),[6] as well
as of laughing gas, sulphuric ether, etc., is no doubt to produce a
suspension of the specially bodily and local faculties for the time,
and with it an inner illumination and consciousness, very beatific and
simulating the real “ecstasy.” Laughing gas (nitrous oxide) produces a
species of illumination and intuition into the secrets of the universe
at times--as in the case of Sir Humphry Davy, who first used it on
himself and who woke up exclaiming, “Nothing exists but thoughts! the
universe is composed of impressions, ideas, pleasures and pains.” The
feelings induced by opium and haschisch have often been described
in somewhat similar terms; and it has to be remembered that many
much-abused practices--indulgence in various drugs and strong drinks,
mesmeric trance-states, frantic dancing and singing, as well as violent
asceticisms, self-tortures, etc.--owe their hold upon humanity to the
same fact, namely that they induce in however remote and imperfect a
degree or by however unhealthy a method some momentary realisation of
that state of cosmic consciousness of which we have spoken, and of the
happiness attending it--the intensity of which happiness may perhaps be
measured by the strength of these very abuses occurring in the search
for it, and may perhaps be compared, for its actual force as a motive
of human conduct, with the intensity of the sexual orgasm.
[6] As a curiosity of derivation it appears that these two
words _hemp_ and _ganja_ are from the same root: Sanskrit
_goni_, _ganjika_; Persian, Greek and Latin, _cannabis_;
French _chanvre_; German _Hanf_; Dutch _hennep_. _Canvas_
also is the same word.
* * * * *
One evening two or three friends that I had made among the native
“proletariat”--post-office and railway clerks--insisted on giving me a
little entertainment. I was driven down to the native city, and landed
in a garden-like court with little cottages all round. To one of these
we were invited. Found quite a collection of people; numbers increasing
on my arrival till there must have been about fifty. Just a little
front room nine feet square, with no furniture except one folding chair
which had been brought from heaven knows where in my honor. A nice rug
had been placed on the ground, and pillows round the walls; and the
company soon settled down, either inside the room (having left their
shoes at the door), or in the verandah. A musician had been provided,
in the shape of an old man who had a variety of instruments and handled
them skilfully as far as I could judge. But the performance was rather
wearisome and lasted an unconscionably long time.
It was very curious to me, as a contrast to English ways, to see all
these youngish fellows sitting round listening to this rather stupid
old man playing by the hour--so quiescent and _resigned_ if one might
use the word. They are so fond of simply doing nothing; their legs
crossed and heads meditatively bent forward; clerks, small foremen and
bookkeepers, and some probably manual workers--looking very nice and
clean withal in their red turbans and white or black shawls or coats.
There is a certain tastefulness and grace always observable in India.
Here I could not but notice, not only the Mahratta dress, but all the
interior scene; plain color-washed walls edged with a running pattern,
the forms of the various instruments, a few common bowls brought in to
serve as musical glasses, the brass pot from which water was poured
into them--all _artistic_ in design and color, though the house was of
tiniest proportions--only apparently two or three rooms, of the same
size as that one.
After the music a little general conversation ensued, with coffee
and cigarettes, talk of course turning on the inevitable Congress
question and the relations of England and India--a subject evidently
exciting the deepest interest in those present; but not much I think
was added to former conversations. One of the company (a post-office
clerk) says that all the educated and thoughtful people in India are
with the Congress, to which I reply that it is much the same with the
socialist movement in the West. He thinks--and they all seem to agree
with him--that the condition of the agricultural people is decidedly
worse than it used to be; but when I ask for evidence there is not
much forthcoming, except references to Digby. I guess the statement is
on the whole true, but the obvious difficulty of corroborating these
things is very great; the absence of records of the past, the vastness
of India, the various conditions in different parts, etc., etc., make
it very difficult to come to any general and sweeping conclusion.
The same friend pointed out (from Digby) that mere statistics of the
increasing wealth of India were quite illusive “as they only indicated
the increase of profits to merchants and foreigners, and had nothing to
do with the general prosperity”; and to this I quite agreed, telling
him that we had had plenty of statistics of the same kind in England;
but that this was only what might be expected, as the ruling classes
in both countries being infected with commercialism would naturally
measure political success by trade-profits, and frame their laws too
chiefly in view of a success of that kind.
Several of those present maintained that it was quite a mistake to say
the Mahomedans are against the Congress; a certain section of them
is, but only a section, and education is every day tending to destroy
these differences and race-jealousies. I put the question seriously to
them whether they really thought that within 50 or 100 years all these
old race-differences, between Mahomedan and Hindu, Hindu and Eurasian,
or between all the sections of Hindus, would be lost in a sense of
national unity. Their reply was, “Yes, undoubtedly.” Education, they
thought, would abolish the ill-feeling that existed, and indeed was
doing so rapidly; there would soon be one common language, the English;
and one common object, namely the realisation of Western institutions.
Whether right or not in their speculations, it is interesting to find
that such is the ideal of hundreds of thousands of the bulk-people of
India now-a-days. Everywhere indeed one meets with these views. The
Britisher in India may and does scoff at these ideals, and probably
in a sense he is right. It may be (indeed it seems to me quite likely
to be) impossible for a very long time yet to realise anything of the
kind. At the same time who would not be touched by the uprising of a
whole people towards such a dream of new and united life? And indeed
the dream itself--like all other dreams--is a long step, perhaps the
most important step, towards its own realisation.
Thus we chatted away till about midnight, when with mutual compliments,
and the usual presents of flowers to the parting guest, we separated.
These fellows evidently prize a little English society very much;
for though they learn our language in the schools and use it in the
business of every-day life, it rarely, very rarely, happens that they
actually get into any friendly conversation with an Englishman; and I
found that I was able to give them useful information--as for instance
about methods of getting books out from England--and to answer a
variety of other questions, which were really touching in the latent
suggestion they contained of the utter absence of any such help under
ordinary circumstances. It struck me indeed how much a few unpretending
and friendly Englishmen might do to endear our country to this people.
[Illustration: SIDE CAVE, ELEPHANTA.]
It is quite a sight at night walking home--however late one may
be--to see on the maidans and open spaces bright lamps placed on the
dusty turf, and groups of Parsees and others sitting round them on
mats--playing cards, and enjoying themselves very composedly. Round
the neighborhood of the Bunder quay and the club-houses and hotels the
scene is rather more gay and frivolous. How pleasant and cool the night
air, and yet not too cool! The darkies sleep out night-long by hundreds
in these places and on the pavements under the trees. They take their
cloths, wrap them under their feet, bring them over their heads, and
tuck them in at the sides; and lie stretched straight out, with or
without a mat under them, looking for all the world like laid-out
corpses.
* * * * *
_Indian Ocean._--On the way to Aden. The harbor of Bombay looked very
beautiful as we glided out in the SS. _Siam_--with its variegated
shore and islands and shipping. I went down into my berth to have a
sleep, and when I awoke we were out of sight of India or any land. Most
lovely weather; impossible to believe that England is shivering under
a March sky, with north-east winds and gloom. The sea oily-calm; by
day suffused with sunlight up to the farthest horizon--only broken,
and that but seldom, by the back-fin of a porpoise, or the glance of
flying-fish; by night gleaming faintly with the reflection of the
stars and its own phosphorescence. Last night the sea was like a vast
mirror, so smooth--every brighter star actually given again in wavering
beauty in the world below--the horizon softly veiled so that it was
impossible to tell where the two heavens (between which one seemed
suspended) might meet. All so tender and calm and magnificent. Canopus
and the Southern Cross and the Milky Way forming a great radiance in
the south; far ahead to the west Orion lying on his side, and Sirius,
and the ruddy Aldebaran setting. Standing in the bows there was nothing
between one and this immense world--nothing even to show that the
ship was moving, except the rush of water from the bows--which indeed
seemed an uncaused and unaccountable phenomenon. The whole thing was
like a magic and beautiful poem. The phosphorescent stars (tiny jelly
creatures) floating on the surface kept gliding swiftly over those
other stars that lay so deep below; sometimes the black ocean-meadows
seemed to be sown thick with them like daisies. The foam round the bows
lay like a luminous necklace to the ship, and fell continually over in
a cascade of brilliant points, while now and then some bigger jelly
tossed in the surge threw a glare up even in our faces.
One might stand for hours thus catching the wind of one’s own speed--so
soft, so mild, so warm--the delicate aroma of the sea, the faint far
suggestion of the transparent air and water, wafting, encircling one
round. And indeed all my journey has been like this--so smooth, so
unruffled, as if one had not really been moving. I have several times
thought, and am inclined to think even now, that perhaps one has not
left home at all, but that it has been a fair panorama that has been
gliding past one all these months.
THE OLD ORDER
AND
THE NEW INFLUENCES