THE CITIES OF THE GREAT MOGUL.
_Monday, January 25th._--Agra is essentially the city of Akbar, the great
Mogul. Founded and created by him in 1506, it had no previously known
history. Here he established his metropolis--his palace within the fort.
One looks forward to seeing some of the splendour with which we have
always learnt to associate the name of the greatest of ancient emperors,
save only Alexander the Great. Nor ought one to be disappointed.
The fort is a superb structure, recalling the days of barbarous
warfare in the substantiality of its walls. It is entirely built of
red granite--not sandstone as at first appears, for that would be too
easy and crumbling a substance for such massive walls and ramparts.
The entrance through the Delhi Gate is very imposing. The hill leads
up to the gateway, flanked by two towers, and guarded by portcullis
and drawbridge, and over all floats a tiny Union Jack. The gates in
themselves are curious, being studded with nails and bits of old iron.
Under the dome of the entrance are the sepoys on duty, who stand at
attention as we pass. Amongst all this massiveness the details are not
overlooked, and there are some very delicately carved niches and windows
filled with fretwork to be seen high up in this dome. A glissade, sunk
between high walls, leads to yet another gateway, formed by two octagonal
towers, which allow of two domes under the entrance, and then we find
ourselves in a barren waste.
The Moti Musjid--the Pearl Mosque--with its three bulbous domes of purest
marble, truly appears in the distance like "pearls of great price" set
in the red walls. In common with many of these buildings, it stands on a
large platform raised high above the road, and ascended to by flights of
steps. It suggests the beautiful idea of the going up from the street,
and leaving its cares behind to go into a purer atmosphere for prayer.
As the gates are thrown open a sea of marble against the cloudless blue
sky meets the eye. Such is the first impression; and then by degrees we
turn our attention to the small courtyard, paved with marble, to the
marble cloisters which close it in on both sides, and lastly to the pearl
itself, with its gem-like towerets, alternating with the three domes, "It
is of the purest Saracenic architecture, though it has the simplicity of
Doric art." There is a vista of horse-shoe arches; one, two, three, four,
we see receding successively, with the same repeated in perspective by
the rows of pillars. These pillars are formed of four single blocks of
marble, one block to each of the sides. The inscription in Persian over
the arches tells us it was built by Shah Jehan in 1656, and the intense
purity of the marble after two centuries have thus passed, without crack
or weather-stain, seems marvellous. Under the central dome you look up
to a ceiling covered with a raised device of triangles laid crossways,
a decoration identified with all mosques. Each of the four pillars
with its dome forms a perfect little mosque within the larger one. The
marble floor is covered with squares just the size of the Mahommedan
prayer-carpet, and 570 can kneel side by side at the same time. The
three apart in the Kibla, or Central Niche, are for the Mullah, with one
for the King and Vizier, or Prime Minister, on either hand. There is a
beautiful carved marble screen at one end, behind which the Begum and the
women of the zenana stood when attending prayer. The floriated design of
this screen is carved out of marble quite two inches thick. Some one has
said, "It is a sanctuary so pure and stainless, revealing so exalted a
spirit of worship, that one feels humbled, as a Christian, to think that
our noble religion has never inspired its architects to surpass this
temple to God and Mahommed."
And then we pass on to the palace, of which the Pearl Mosque is the
fitting sanctuary.
Akbar, the Great Mogul, the greatest of barbarian kings, built for
himself a palace worthy of his great renown. Quarries of marble were
used in its construction, and tons of precious stones. Agate, porphyry,
and carnelian were thought not too costly for the inlaying and mosaic of
the apartments used by the emperor. It was built within the fort, which
thus enclosed the little world gathered about Akbar the Great. Passing
along we see the old gateway which led to the chowk, or bazaar, reserved
for the emperor's own use, and then one enters the Carousal, or Tilt
Yard. Here stands the Dewan-i-Am, or Audience Hall. It is an open loggia
supported on marble pillars, and the decoration of red and gold is still
vivid. The slab of marble in the centre is where Akbar sat in judgment,
and behind in the wall there is an alcove deep enough to form a room,
where the court sat in waiting for their master. This room is exquisitely
inlaid with flowers in precious stones, and the recesses, or pigeon-holes
in the wall, were used for burning incense and sweet-scented woods.
This leads us into the interior, or private courts of the palace, and
we find ourselves in a maze of these. Those beautiful marble trellises
seem to have been let into every window, or form the grating over every
doorway, and the embroidery in precious stones on the marble amazes us
with its costly magnificence. Quiet courts, still gardens, abound. All is
harmonious and preserved, left just as it was 300 years ago. The rooms
are empty, it is true, but one hardly notices it, for these eastern
palaces are always cold and void. A few carpet-mats strewn on the marble
floor, some looking-glasses and chandeliers, are all the furnishing you
look to find in them.
The palace is washed by the waters of the sacred Jumna on one side, and
the windows and loggias took down on the river, while frequently we came
upon water-gates leading down underground passages to give access for
bathing in the stream.
Apart from all the beauty of the palace, it is most precious to us as a
living record of the domestic life of those times. In the zenana we see
the baths, on which the greatest care has been lavished, the cold bath
being in the basin of the open court, with the hot bath in the covered
recess. Here is the mosque apart for the ladies of the zenana, with the
court below where a bazaar was kept also for their separate use. We see
the walled entrance to the passage, which is supposed to lead underground
to the Taj. It was through here the unfaithful begums disappeared, to be
seen no more. We can trace it all so distinctly that we can repeople the
harem with its dusky beauties.
Then we come to the inner court, the Dewan-i-Khas, or Hall of Select or
Private Audience. On a platform open to the river there are two thrones,
one of black marble and the other of white. It is on the black takt,
or throne, that Akbar sat in state. When the Mahrattas took Agra, and
the foreign Rajah seated himself on the throne, it cracked (so runs the
legend) from end to end, and blood gushed out. When Lord Ellenborough, as
Governor-General, seated himself on it, blood again came forth, and two
dark stains with the crack attest these "truths" to all good Mahommedans!
On the white throne opposite, tradition says that the king's jester
seated himself and burlesqued his royal master. Below this we look down
into the arena where the wild-beast fights took place, the king viewing
them from the platform above. The emperor's bedroom has a fresco round
the ceiling of great beauty. On a gold background are inlaid sprays of
flowers in precious stones. A portion of one corner was restored for the
visit of the Prince of Wales, but the cost of 5000 rupees was too heavy
for it to be continued. Near the dining-hall are the famous Somnath Gates
captured by Lord Ellenborough in the Afghan campaign, and which gave
rise to a well-known controversy. We saw in them the three metal bosses
supposed to have been taken from Mahmoud's shield.
The Khas Mahl, or Belvedere, overhanging the Jumna, is a little gem, with
its delicate rows of cusped arches, and the niches and groinings of its
walls. It is open on three sides, and commands a splendid view over the
river, with the snowy domes of the Taj in the distance. It was here that
the emperor sat in the rainy season.
Then we go down to the little court, paved in squares of black and white
marble, called the Pachise, or backgammon and chessboard. There were no
pieces used for this colossal board, but Akbar's wives trotted about at
his bidding from square to square, thus performing each move. Above this
there is the lovely Jasmine Tower, or the Boudoir of the Chief Sultana,
most exquisitely inlaid with turquoise and carnelian. We discovered
near here a charming little mosque hidden up some steps, called the
"Children's Mosque," and where the children were taken separately to
pray. It was in the Anguri Bagh that the British officers and their
families were confined during that terrible summer of 1857, and here Mr.
Russell Colvin, the Lieutenant-Governor, died--worn out with anxiety--and
was buried in the marble tomb we saw just now opposite the Audience Hall.
We then descended to a garden, where, in a cool grotto, we found the
Shish Mahal, or the Palace of Glass. It is an oriental bath, and the
decoration is very eccentric and fantastic. It consists of hundreds of
thousands of tiny mirrors covering the walls and ceiling. On entering
it is like being in a silver cave. The chunar stone of which it is made
is covered with filagree, and the looking-glasses arranged in rows and
patterns produce a wonderful effect. We lighted a match in a dark corner,
and the effect was bewilderingly dazzling, the gleam of light being
reflected and flashed back in our faces a hundred times. The marble
baths all round are much carved, but the most beautiful sight of all
must have been the bath where the water from the Jumna fell over some
recesses lined with looking-glass, which gave back in radiated colours
the reflection of the tiny waterfall. About here we see some entrances
to underground passages, where, it is said, during the midday heat, the
wives and concubines of the king disported themselves in the original
garb of Eve before their royal master, causing the corridors to resound
again with their merry shouts of laughter.
The Jahangir Mahal, or Palace of Jahangir, Akbar's son, adjoins the
palace. The red courts, particularly that called the Begum's Court, with
their massive pillars supported by Hindu brackets, and carvings of birds
and flowers, looked coarse and heavy after the chaste beauties we have
just been seeing.
As we see so often repeated in history, and in our own times, the great
palace which Akbar founded as the abode of his dynasty, was destined to
be inhabited but for a very short time. Jahangir, his son and successor,
lived and died in northern latitudes, and Shah Juhan, his son, began the
palace at Delhi. The race lay under a cloud, for the latter emperor was
dethroned by his son Aurungzebe, and under him the fort became merely a
citadel and the residence of a Mogul governor. It changed hands during
the Mahratta war several times, and was finally held by General Lake
after the defeat of the Mahratta power at Delhi.
To the founder of the short but brilliant Mogul dynasty, was it given
first to call into existence a nationality among the people. On ascending
the throne at the age of fifteen, Akbar, by raising the Hindus and
refusing to favour the Mussulmans, welded the people into one nation. His
latitude in religious matters is shown by the Hindu god and goddesses at
Futtehpore Sikri, the Windsor of Agra as it has been called. There is
even here a palace called the Palace of the Christian Woman.
It is to Akbar that we owe the most deeply interesting city of India, and
to his successors the second, that is, Delhi.
The Jumma Musjid, or Cathedral Mosque, stands opposite, and slightly
turned eastwards away from the Fort. It is the second largest mosque in
India, but though of vaster proportions, it can claim no pre-eminence to
beauty. It stands on the usual platform, and the inside is inlaid with
black and red marble. The inscription over the central arch tells us that
it was built by Shah Jahan in 1653, in honour of the Princess Juhanara,
whose tomb we shall see later on at Delhi. However, the colouring of the
three domes is highly peculiar and remarkable. They are of deep red, and
the white lines meeting up and down them at right angles form a zigzag,
and resemble from a distance the stripes of a zebra.
In the afternoon we drove through a bit of the native quarter to
reach the pontoon bridge, and crossing over it came to the tomb of
Itmud-ud-Daulah, or Ghias Beg.
Ghias Beg was the grandfather of the beautiful Muntâz of the Taj, and
Vizier to the Emperor Jahangir, who honoured him after death by this
mausoleum. He was a poet also, and it is told how, when the emperor
visited him on his deathbed, and he was asked if he recognized his royal
master, the minister replied by a quotation from a Persian poet:--
"Even if the mother-Hindman happened to be present now,
He himself would surely know thee by the splendour of thy brow."
The mausoleum is a little gem set in a green garden, and overawed by four
red gateways, quite out of proportion and keeping with it. The front
presents the appearance of carved ivory, so delicate is the lacework
of the marble tracery. Like the other buildings of Agra the outside
and inside are embroidered with stones, but these are not so precious,
being chiefly plum-pudding or agate stones. The design and finish of the
work are however most remarkable. There is a slender vase in blue and
green with serpent handles; a basin in blue and white, resembling the
old willow-patterned plate; a cup with a spray of flowers, or vase with
an outspread peacock's tail. The ceilings, though sadly weather-worn,
still show what a splendid and gorgeous mass of colouring and variegated
patterns they were. The mausoleum is divided into a succession of courts
opening one out of the other, and each is the death-chamber of one or
more. Following the melancholy circle of the building, we see the narrow
marble sarcophagi of brothers, sisters, a whole family, descending even
to the second generation, who find their tombs within this narrow circle.
It is at the top, on the marble chabutra, or platform, that we find the
tomb of Itmud-ud-Daulah himself, lying under the canopy of marble, and
surrounded by the marble trellis screens.
These Mahommedan tombs always indicate the sex of the person beneath by
a very small raised slab, some six inches long by two wide for the man,
whilst that for the woman is the same, with the addition of a mitre-like
head.
We went home after this, for we were dreadfully tired, and I especially,
almost knocked up by another slight attack of fever, brought on last
night in the train by a selfish fellow-passenger, who _would_ keep the
window on his side of the carriage open.
Bright and fresh we rose the next morning, under the influence of looking
forward to seeing the Taj for the first time. We all know "that it is
worth coming to India, if only to see the Taj;" and we thought of this as
we drove down the well-known road constructed during the famine of 1838.
The Taj Mahal is, I think, the most beautiful, the most heavenly of all
earthly conceptions--of all earthly creations, of all works raised by
the hand of man. In the midst of this land of glorious monuments the
Taj shines forth as the one thing of "perfect beauty." Apart from the
loveliness of its outward and earthly form, it stands there as "some
silent finger pointing to the sky," an intuition of the quiet beauty of
death. It is as if Shah Jahan, even in his heathen darkness, conceived
some vague idea of a higher world, another life; as if he felt that
by transferring the remains of his loved one to _the_ most beautiful
resting-place on earth he was lifting her up to a higher sphere.
He seems to have tried to embody some such idea in the monument which
will immortalize his name and the memory of the lovely Mumtaz to whose
honour it was erected. It was his way of showing the passion of his love,
the erecting of this most beautiful mausoleum that the world had ever
seen. We may think it was the work of an ignorant and barbarous mind, but
after all it is the form of expression of sorrow which is unhappily must
common with us until this day.
The Taj was built in 1648. No wood or stone was used in its
construction, for it was built _entirely_ with Jeypore marble, which
still retains its pristine purity of whiteness.
The approach to the Taj by the straight Strand Road, with the first
view of the marble dome over some trees, communicates a pang of
disappointment; but as we pass under an old stone gateway and find
ourselves in a quaint native court, the scene grows more in harmony. This
court leads us out before the great red gateway. It is very handsome.
Formed of red granite, inlaid with white marble, it is topped with a
series of little cupolas or umbrellas, that count the curiously uneven
number of eleven. Two slender towers that flank the gateway look spiral
from their running zig-zag pattern. The broad square which frames the
arch is covered with sentences from the Koran, those being chosen which
speak of comfort and consolation to the mourning. The irregular and
disjointed letters of the Arabic alphabet form a very effective and bold
decoration to the arch, and the contrast between the white and red marble
is most striking. Passing through we are under the great dome of this
gateway, which is covered with the mosque-pattern of crossed triangles.
A man with designs of the Florentine mosaic on plates and vases, &c.,
distracts our attention.
We turn,--and see the mirage of a pure white temple--the glory of the Taj.
The gateway forms a grand frame, the scimitar crossing the dome just
touches the keystone of the arch, and the sides seem to widen out just
enough to admit of a complete view of the furthest outlying cupola and
tower. The first startling effect of dazzling brilliancy is very great,
and deep, and lasting. It is here that the Taj became indelibly imprinted
on my memory. It is as seen from here that I always recall its now
familiar lines.
The stupendous marble dome, crowned with the golden scimitar, is the
central object, the first that absorbs the attention of the eye; but
gradually the towers and the cupolas around the dome begin to be
recognized--to force themselves into the picture. We see that the
irregularity of their number is caused by the foreshortening of those on
the further side, making them appear in between the fixed four square
lines of the others. There are four, like outlying sentries, guarding the
marble platform, and four others rise from the platform, from whence in
its turn springs the dome.
[Illustration: The Taj Mahal, Agra.
Page 312.]
Then you glance at the exceeding beauty of the idea, that has planned
the effect of the cypress avenue, the paved walks bordering the strip
of water, that all converge, and lead the eye up to the chabutra, or
vast marble platform, whereon stands the Taj. There are no steps in this
platform, no visible means of approach.
The three archways under the dome are recessed, and in them the carving
is so pure and delicate that even from this distance it looks like the
carving on one of those ivory caskets from China. The perfection of
finish is astounding. Then, even as we look, the picture is enhanced
by some specks of bright colour, which stream out of the shadow of the
doorway, some women with saris of peacock-blue, and sea-green, and
salmon-pink, tender tints giving a flash of life and light to the silent
and awing grandeur--almost sternness, I had said, of the cold marble.
As you approach, as you reach a middle distance, the Taj loses in effect;
but here the cruciform pavements meet, and your attention is diverted to
two red gateways at the ends amongst the trees. Thus you have behind you
the great gateway; on either hand these smaller ones complete the square;
whilst before you are the still unexplored mysteries of the Taj.
As we emerge up through the opening on to the great chabutra, blinded by
the dazzling brightness of the sun on the marble, which seems to collect
and radiate every ray of sun about itself--it is like the purity of
driven snow on mountain heights. As we stand under the semi-dome of the
entrance, in its relieving shadow, we are conscious of a work almost too
superhuman for humanity.
The frieze of marble is delicately carved in bas-relief with
lotus-flowers, each piston and stamen of the flower, each vein in every
leaf, being delineated with scrupulous exactness. Over this entrance
leading into the abode of death is a sentence in Arabic characters from
the Koran finishing up the verses of consolation, with an invitation "to
the pure of heart to enter the Garden of Paradise."
We pass through the wrought cedar-wood doors.
Through the dim solemn light let in high up in the dome, and struggling
through the heavy marble trellis-work, we see the cenotaph--the central
romance that gave rise to this "poem in marble."
The beautiful Mumtaz Mahal, the Exalted One of the Palace, was the
wife of Shah Jahan, then heir-apparent to the throne. The chosen wife
of his youth, the "beloved one" among all his harem, she bore him
seven children, and died at the birth of the eighth, when accompanying
her husband on a campaign to the Deccan against the tribe of Lodi.
Anguish-stricken, his grief found expression in a monument of purity,
"after the eastern idea of beauty, which considers as full dress a simple
white robe, with an aigrette of precious stones." It has been truly said,
"The Taj is not a great national temple erected by a free and united
people; it owes its creation to the whim of an absolute ruler, who was
free to squander the resources of the state in commemorating his personal
sorrows."
The cenotaph is surrounded by a screen of jali, and the entrance to it
is just opposite to us. Within the screen she lies, in the centre. The
simpler and large tomb of the king has had to be placed at the side, to
the left, so that that of the queen is the only one seen on entering.
Shah Jahan originally intended to build for himself a similar monument
on the opposite bank of the Jumna, and to unite the two by a bridge.
He ended his reign in captivity, and, "thus," says Mr. Taylor, "fate
conceded to love what was denied to vanity." These are the cenotaphs
erected, after the Oriental manner, for show; the real tombs are in the
vault below.
The screen is a network of "geometrical combination," rare, intricate,
and unique in the world, all carved to the depth of two inches out of
solid marble. The open-work fringe of lace at the top has been added at
a later date.
On this and on the walls around are what calls forth our most
enthusiastic admiration, our greatest expressions of delight.
The cenotaph, the screen, the walls, are inlaid with flowers, and designs
in precious stones, agates, and coloured marble. Each leaf, each petal,
each stalk, is shaded by the different tones and colours of the stones.
Each is perfect in the minute details of drawing, shading, and colouring.
Every spray stands out from its marble background; not a turn of a leaf,
not the shade of a half-open calyx but what is delicately indicated.
Thirty separate pieces are used in every flower, and each spray has three
of such. We see thus represented the lotus, the lily, and the iris.
They are formed of precious stone; of cornelian, coral, lapis-lazuli,
bloodstone, jasper, garnets, turquoise, amethyst, crystal, sapphire,
onyx, malachite, and agates. It is an Indian _Pietra dura_, and differs
from the Florentine only in that the latter is in bas-relief.
It took seventeen years collecting the materials for the building of
the Taj, and 20,000 workmen were employed in its construction for
twenty-three years. It cost over 2,000,000_l._ Workmen came from all
parts, from Turkey, Persia, Delhi, and the Punjaub. The "head master"
was Isa Muhammed, the illuminator was an inhabitant of Shiraz, and the
master mason came from Bagdad. Many different countries were drawn upon
for contributions of precious stones. The crystal came from China,
cornelian from Bagdad, turquoises from Thibet, sapphires and lapis-lazuli
from Ceylon, coral from Arabia and the Red Sea, garnets from Bundelkund,
plum-pudding stone from Jassilmere, rock-spar from Nirbudda, the onyx and
amethyst from Persia; and there are many other stones used that we have
no knowledge of, nor name for in our language.
A terrible old desperado was the Rajah of Bhurtpore, who caused many of
the gems and precious stones to be picked out of the Taj. Government has
replaced many of these, and restored a whole corner which was removed by
this regal robber; but, though exactly the same when examined closely,
the general effect looks coarse beside the original.
The solemn light that glimmers down gives a holy, reverend look to this
chamber of beauty and death, and the lotus frieze stands out grandly in
the half light. Up there the dome seems to lose itself in space, and
looks intensely blue from deep shadows on the cold marble. Each of the
octagon arches is crowned by a sentence from the Koran, and outside and
inside the writing is so frequently repeated that it has often been
declared that the whole of the Koran is thus inlaid in the Taj.
Not the least beautiful and wonderful thing about the mausoleum is the
echo that during fifteen seconds lingers on the air, dying away as if
with retreating steps down endless cloisters--dying so gently that you
know not when it ceases. It is a finer echo than that in the Baptistery
at Pisa, which is thought to be the finest in Europe. The echo is so
sharp and quick that only one note should be sounded, and this will be
multiplied in the distance till you recognize not your own single tone.
It is this that causes the discordant sound of voices speaking in the
Taj, the echo repeating and mixing the different voices.
"I pictured to myself the effect of an Arabic or Persian lament for the
lovely Muntâz sung over her tomb. The responses that would come from
above in the pauses of the song must resemble the harmonies of angels in
paradise," writes one who has heard it.
We descend into the vault by the long sloping marble-lined corridor. A
sweet and sickly smell is wafted along it towards us, the subtle odour of
otta of roses perfuming the air. Here is where the royal dust and ashes
really rest, and it is very characteristic of the perfection and finish
displayed throughout the Taj, that though unseen, and in total darkness,
the finish is just as elaborate, the walls, the cenotaph, the frieze of
the purest marble; the mosaic of pietra dura as lovely and precious. The
tomb of the queen is inscribed with the sentences of praise usual in
Persian monuments, but that of the king bears a curious eulogium:--"The
magnificent tomb of the King inhabitant of the two paradises; the most
sublime sitter on the throne in Illeeyn (the starry heaven), dweller in
Firdos (paradise), Shah Jahan Pâdishâh-i-Gazi, peace to his remains,
heaven is for him; his death took place on 26th day of Rajab, in the year
1076 of the Hijri (or 1665 A.D.). From this transitory world eternity has
marched him off to the next."
The two mosques that flank the platform are of red sandstone inlaid with
marble, and face east and west. The western one only is used for prayer,
and the eastern one was built as a "jawab," or "answer" to the other,
showing how strong was the feeling for preserving the symmetry of the Taj.
We wander round the platform, which dwarfs everything with its immense
size, and makes us look like little black specks crossing its glistening
surface, and look over into the muddy waters of the Jumna, which washes
the red sandstone platform of the Taj on two sides. In all distant views
this platform spoils the effect of the Taj, appearing like a red brick
wall, on which the white dome alone is seen resting. We look over the
river to where higher up we see shining the temples and pavilions of the
Aram Bagh, or the Garden of Rest.
Bishop Heber truly expresses and sums up the glorious loveliness of the
Taj, when he says, "It was designed by Titans and finished by Jewellers."
Four times in all we visited the Taj. Once again in the afternoon's light
and shade, and yet once more by moonlight; but I still thought that
nothing could exceed the beauty of that _first_ glimpse through the red
gateway. The defects (for what of human make is without?) appear more
distinct each time. One long absorbing visit to the Taj is what I would
recommend.
All the same by moonlight, what you lose in detail you gain in the
overwhelming solitude, the solemnity of the scene. The pure dome shows
out against the dark blue vault of heaven, the brilliancy of the
silver-tipped turret towers eclipses the shining of the stars. The Taj
looks then truly majestic. You fear to break the silence by the echo
of your footsteps as you steal quickly round in the deep shadows, and
come out on the dazzling platform, in the glory of the full moon by
the riverside. At night you feel it is not a monumental palace, but a
burial-place; the smell of the tomb is close and vault-like, and you
shudder at the vast silence as you escape into the open once more. One
curious effect is then always remarked. As you approach the Taj by
moonlight it seems to dwindle and recede, and you only realize suddenly
that you are near, and almost under the platform.
In the afternoon we drove along a road which has been called the "Appian
Way" of Agra, from the tombs and mausoleums which we see along the five
miles road to the village of Secundra or Sikandria. We are going to the
mausoleum of the great Akbar himself.
Entering under a gateway, which is a veritable study in red and white and
other coloured marbles, we find ourselves in a small park. The feeling
of disappointment occasioned so often by the ruin and decay around these
Indian monuments is absent here, for Secundra delights us with a certain
finish and completeness. The trees bordering the broad paved causeway
form as effective an avenue, as the cyprus at the Taj, to the pyramidal
tomb at their end. Four grand causeways coming from four of these marble
and sandstone gateways meet at the marble platform on which stands the
mausoleum. The idea of the mausoleum is peculiar and original, as will be
seen. The semicircular dome of the entrance, which is whitewashed, forms
an incongruity which mars the general effect of the façade.
Down a dim, gradually sloping passage we descend to the underground
vault. At its entrance, by the pale light from the doorway, we see the
plain marble sarcophagus, surmounted by a wreath of fresh flowers which
contains the dust of Akbar, the founder of the great Mogul Empire, the
mightiest sovereign of a mighty race.
Under the central dome it stands alone, without name or inscription,
marking by its simplicity the chosen tomb of the great monarch.
We climb up one after another the four chabutras. Each one has the
staircase unseen at first, but discovered in a corner, and which leads
up to the trap-hole, through which we reappear on to the next platform.
Thus each one you attain to seems to be the last. We are looking down
upon tiers of minarets, and upon the four canopies, pillar-supported,
which face each way of the compass. At length we climb the last flight,
and find ourselves at the summit on the white marble chabutra that crowns
the whole.
All is of marble, white and pure. Here, surrounded by one of those
exquisite filagree marble screens open to the heavens, stand the whitest
of sarcophagi, hewn out of one single block of marble, wrought, and
carved, and fretted until it is like the carving of a sandal-wood box.
The ninety-nine names of God in Arabic are inscribed within and around
the scroll-work of the tomb, and it bears also the Salutation of the
Faith, "Allaho Akbar! Jilli Julali Hoo." The court is surrounded by a
cloister with Saracenic arches showing glimpses of the distant view.
Tradition says that the sort of half pillar at the head of the tomb was
intended for a setting for the Koh-i-Noor diamond, and that it really
stood there for some time.
The _first_ view of Secundra brings dissatisfaction. The creator of
Futtehpore Sikri, the builder of the Fort and palace of Agra, the founder
of the Pearl Mosque, we look to see something more magnificent than this
self-chosen resting-place, for by the subtle leading up and preparation
we only realize the beauty of the summit, when we look at that jointless
tomb, that court of purest marble; its only canopy--that of nature,
heaven's blue sky.
On the way home we paid a visit to the prison, which is quite a special
sight of India, on account of the carpet manufactures carried on there.
The prisoners sit before a screen, or woof, with the bobbins of coloured
worsted hanging in rows above. Each thread has to be tied separately into
the string of the woof, cut, combed, or pressed down, and the scissors
and combs used are of the rudest order. A reader chants or sings songs
out the colours of the pattern at intervals, saying, "So many white
threads, so many red or blue," and the ground is filled in afterwards.
From fifteen to twenty men are squatted on the bench at work on the same
carpet, and an inch and a half is the usual daily advance. The blending
of colours and designs of these carpets are very rich and handsome, and
the borders especially fine. This prison is the principal one in India,
and their carpets are much sought after. They are sold to the Magasins du
Louvre and the Bon Marché at Paris, and supplied also to a Bond Street
firm. One that we saw in progress was an order from the Duke of Connaught
for a present to the Queen, and another is being made for the Empress
Eugenie.
There are only three European warders in this prison, and nearly all
the remainder are good-conduct prisoners. One who accompanied us,
holding a huge umbrella over my head, had thrown a man down a well in a
fit of temper. In the cook-house we saw them busy baking thousands of
chapatties, or flat cakes, of coarse meal, the only food they require.
The difficulty of caste is got over here, by the Brahmins, or highest
caste, being alone employed for the cooking.
We bought some very pretty ornaments to-day made of soapstone, a clay of
a warm grey tint, and which forms beautifully clean raised patterns on
boxes, and card-trays, &c.
_Monday, January 26th._--We began our morning with a disappointment.
We had intended to drive out twenty-three miles to Futtehpore Sikri,
to see the village of palaces and princely buildings of Akbar's
first metropolis, abandoned for the fort at Agra on account of its
unhealthiness; but we were confronted with the tiresome detail of not
having given notice the previous day for relays of horses along the road.
Hoping perhaps to return to Agra, we determined to leave for Delhi by the
midday train.
In going to the station, we saw a touching sight. A bier covered
with flowers was set on the ground, and a little group were squatted
resignedly around--mute, not weeping, but looking helplessly and
steadfastly at the bier. The chief mourner had taken his place at the
head. And this is the sight you often see as you pass down some quiet
avenue, or near approach to the river banks--a mournful little party,
a few bearers carrying the bier uplifted, and hurrying down towards
the sacred river with their burden, crying as they pass along that
mournful wail, "The name of God is true. If you speak true, it will bring
salvation."
Eight hours' journey brought us in the evening to Delhi. We found the
"Northbrook" so full of Americans (for we meet such numbers of them
travelling in India, come across from "Frisco" to Japan and China, and
taking India on their way to Europe, generally bent on arriving to Rome
for Easter week), so we took refuge at the United Service Hotel. Here
there is the officious, though, be it said, intelligent guide, Baboo
Dass, well known to travellers at Delhi.
A word about the hotels. An Indian hotel is the embodiment of dirt and
discomfort. There is nothing to complain of in the food, but the rooms
are damp and cellar-like, with whitewashed walls, and the barest amount
of furniture. Dressing is a lengthy process, when you have to divide your
toilette between a brick-floored bath-room, and a dressing-room with
one looking glass and a chair, and a bedroom equally dismal. Moreover,
they are built solely with regard to the heat, and in the cold nights
and frosty mornings you suffer bitterly from the draught of air-traps
from skylights in the roof, and doors and windows that refuse, and are
never intended to close tightly. Added to this there are the multitude
of servants from whose incessant attention you suffer much annoyance, no
one man doing the same thing. On leaving an hotel a crowd of at least six
are awaiting backsheesh--the Khitmutgar, the Sirdar, the Bheestie, the
Sweeper, &c. No exception can be made for any one hotel. We found them
all equally atrocious, even including those of Bombay and Calcutta.
_Tuesday, January 27th._--We drove along the Mall of the civil lines,
where was lying the encampment of a collector or other provincial officer
travelling on his annual round of inspection. We passed under the
battered portals of the Cashmere Gate, so famed for its noble defence
during the Mutiny. Just on the other side of this is Skinner's Church.
Colonel Skinner married first, as was natural, an Englishwoman, and built
this church; but, secondly, he married a Mohammedan, and then the mosque
opposite was built; but, last of all, he espoused a Hindu, when the Hindu
temple, a little way off, came into existence. He used to say that when
he died he would be sure of going to the heaven of the best religion.
Delhi has a fort, containing a palace, a Dewas-i-Khas, a Dewas-i-Am, a
pearl mosque, and a Jâma Musjid, similar and in the same position as
at Agra. But all, with the exception of the mosque, are but a feeble
reproduction of the latter. Shah Jahan, as we know, founded Delhi, but
the works he accomplished were but a feeble and poor imitation of those
of his noble grandfather Akbar at Agra.
The four splendid gateways of the Fort, with their grand red colouring
and coping of domes, would appear to be copied from the gateway of the
Taj.
We entered by the Lahore gate, and passed under the vaulted causeway
known as the chattahs, or umbrella of the king, and where the military
bazaar now maintains a certain air of picturesqueness.
The Dewan-i-Am, the Hall of Public Audience, is the usual marble loggia.
It has only a cumbrous canopy of marble over the marble throne, but the
wall behind is most beautifully inlaid with mosaic. The colours are still
extraordinarily bright, and show the green plumage of the parakeets, the
blue of the humming-birds, while groups of flowers and clusters of fruit
complete a rare panel of beauty.
The Dewan-i-Khas, or Hall of Private Audience, is at present disfigured
by trusses of hay wrapped round the inlaid pillars, whilst the work of
reparation is being carried on. Government proposes to spend three laks
of rupees in restoring the original marvels that existed of gold and
silver filagree work, the pillars having been plated with sheets of gold,
and the ceiling covered with silver. It is estimated that this ceiling,
which was part of the spoil of the Mahratta Invasion of 1759, produced
170,000_l._ worth of silver.
The inscription in the corner of the ceiling is the well-known and very
beautiful, "If there is a Paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here,
it is here." The famous Peacock Throne was in this hall. "The throne
was six feet long and four feet broad, composed of solid gold, inlaid
with precious gems. The back was formed of jewelled representations of
peacock's tails. It was surmounted by a gold canopy on twelve pillars
of the same material. Around the canopy hung a fringe of pearls, and on
each side of the throne stood two chattahs, or umbrellas, the symbol of
royalty. They were formed of crimson velvet, richly embroidered with
gold thread and pearls, and had handles, eight feet long, of solid gold
studded with diamonds. This unparalleled achievement of the jeweller's
art was constructed by a Frenchman, Austin de Bordeaux. The value of the
throne is estimated by Tavernier, himself a professional jeweller, at
6,000,000_l._ sterling." The Peacock throne was taken away by the Persian
Nadir Shah.
Then we are taken to the palace and into a little room, three-cornered
in shape, and with its windows open towards the river. Inlaid in mosaic
there is here the sweet little inscription, "Sigh not, for good times
are at hand." The scales of Justice are represented in another place in
inlaid marbles over the trellis door, which leads into the Zenana. Here
every care has been lavished upon the beauty of the decoration of the
various rooms, though the red and green flowers and running patterns look
coarse and gorgeous to our eyes, so lately accustomed to the delicacy
and minuteness of the Agra pietra dura. Here again we see how Shah
Jahan failed to produce the minute beauty of Akbar's palace. Still the
colouring is interesting for being so well preserved, showing out as if
it was finished but yesterday, and one is glad to see that any attempt
was made to lighten the prison house and the dull lives of its inmates.
The bath-rooms, as in all eastern palaces, are the great feature, and
occupy the largest portion of this palace. Running round the centre
room there is a shallow channel, inlaid with an ingenious serpenting
pattern in black, and the water coursing swiftly over this, produces
the effect of fishes swimming about in the water. In other rooms we see
the children's smaller baths, and the shower-bath formed by a fountain
springing up through the floor. The centre hall contains a pool inlaid
with jade. It was here the ladies came to drink after the bath, and the
water filtering through the holes of jade was supposed to be purified
and cooled by it. This was an old Eastern idea, for we are told that
kings always had their drinking-cups of jade. The bath in the king's
apartments had hot and cold water laid on, and was used by the Prince of
Wales when on his visit to Delhi.
The pearl mosque is almost a perfect model in miniature proportions of
the Moti Musjid of Agra, but this one was kept only for the use of the
king and his family. The paving of this court is very pretty, the squares
being indicated by double black lines, and those under the mosque are
fringed at the top with three delicate sprays of jasmine flowers. The
remainder of the Fort is occupied by the barracks of our troops.
Passing out between the formidable spikes of the Delhi gate, we drive up
before the Jamma Musjid, the finest mosque in India.
It is called Jamma, or the Friday Mosque, because Friday is the sacred
day of the week according to the Moslem religion. Escaping two Albino
beggars--most repulsive objects--we ascend up the magnificent flight
of broad shallow steps--those steps which on three sides form such a
splendid approach to the imposing grandeur within. The wooden gates at
the entrance are interesting on account of their immense thickness, and
their age, which is over 200 years. When inside the court we see that it
is entirely paved with white marble, with black lines, which has a very
striking effect when extended over such a vast space. In the centre there
is the usual marble reservoir, where some Mohammedans are washing their
feet preparatory to praying. Three cupolas of white marble, crowned by
gilded culices, rise over the red arches, and pillars that form the open
loggia of the mosque. The centre cupola is partly hidden by the great
square of the principal entrance, in which the pointed gothic arch is
splendidly described. The cornices of this pointed archway are divided
into ten compartments, each ten feet broad, which contain inscriptions in
black marble on a white ground. Following the usual construction the two
minarets that flank the mosque seem almost of an exaggerated height. They
are inlaid with the white and red marble stripes placed vertically, and
are as always the pride and beauty of the city. For miles around their
graceful proportions can be seen isolated, reaching towards the sky, when
all other parts of the city are unseen. A colonnade of red sandstone
surrounds the court, and the whole beauty of the mosque lies in the
splendid contrast of the rich red sandstone against the white marble
court.
To enhance the scene here are a long row of worshippers, bending and
rising in union, saluting the earth and crying out with one voice, in
response to the priest who is under the portico; and other bare-footed
worshippers are hurrying from the tank, after performing their ablutions,
to join them. On every Friday some 10,000 souls cover the court of the
Friday mosque. The tak, or niche of the kibla, is beautifully carved,
and the pulpit, consisting of three panels, is hewn out of one splendid
block of marble. It is from here that the priest gives the well-known
salutation of the faith: "Allaho Allah!" And the response comes intoned
back from the multitude, "Jilli Julali!"
In a corner of the court they opened a casket of relics for us to see--a
parchment written by Hussein and Hassein, the grandsons of Mahomet, a
shoe of the prophet, his footprint on a stone, left whilst healing the
sick; and, lastly, most precious of all, a single hair from his beard.
Mahomet must have had a very red beard.
The beggars of Delhi are proverbial for their importunity, and on the
steps of the mosque they glean a rich harvest. The maimed, the halt, the
blind, pursued us till we were fain to take refuge in the carriage from
the armless stumps, the twisted and distorted limbs, that were thrust
forward, to excite our pity. Not less troublesome are the hawkers and
vendors, who swarm everywhere in the verandahs of the hotels, but nowhere
worse than at Delhi. They leave you no peace, pursue you everywhere, and
even insinuate themselves in at your bedroom door. They are the pest of
Indian travellers.
Driving in the afternoon through the Queen's Gardens, the abode of the
horrid yellow pariah dogs of the city, we reached the outskirts of the
town, and came to the old fort, made 500 years old. It consists of
some ruined walls, so massive that, judging from the aperture of the
loopholes, they must be at least eleven feet thick. On the top of a large
pile of ruins, nobly placed, stands the Lat, or Staff of Feroz Shah,
another of Asoka's columns. It is like those we have seen at Benares and
Allahabad, only this one is of more ancient date, being 2200 years old.
The Lat is a single shaft of sandstone tapering very slightly towards the
top. The inscription in Pali, the oldest language in India, is almost
illegible, but it consists of "certain edicts for the furtherance of
religion and virtue, enacted by a king called Dhumma Asoka Piyadasi," who
must have changed his character after ascending the throne, which he only
reached by the murder of the ninety relations who had prior claims. A
kite perched on its broken summit, looked curiously monumental, and there
were others sitting in solemn rows on the ruins around, with heads turned
towards the commissariat building below, whence they were expecting their
daily meal of refuse. Others were also swooping around the river banks,
waiting for one of the dead bodies which are so frequently seen floating
down the Jumna.
We returned to the town, and found our way through a very slummy lane to
a beautiful little gem, a Jain temple, most exquisitely carved outside,
though this was almost hidden and lost in the narrow street and the
shadow of the overhanging houses. We pass the passage leading round to
the further side of the temple, where the women worship apart from the
men. Lately we have been seeing many mosques and temples with cupolas,
domes, and minarets of all sizes and forms, but now we see one of a
totally different design. There is a kind of cupola with a gilded top,
but it is a very squat one, and the effect produced is as by a cushion
crushed down by the weight of a crown.
The idol, with legs doubled under him, is sitting cross-legged under the
canopy inlaid with gold leaf. Jain, the god, was naked, and in this he
differs from the Hindu gods, who are always represented clothed. This
used to give rise to serious riots on the day in the year when Jain was
paraded through the streets in procession, the Hindus pelting him with
mud, and a free fight generally ensuing between the different followers.
A military force is brought out now on this day of the year for the
protection of Jain, at the expense of his believers.
The Hindus also parade their god Ganesh once a year, on June 17th, and
we went to see the Juggernaut car used on this occasion, and kept in
a stable adjoining the Jamma Mosque. The car is entirely covered with
gold leaf, and cost, it is said, 25,000_l._ We noticed particularly the
several railings which surrounded the seat of the god, placed there by
the priests to catch the money thrown to him in the streets. It is drawn
by four prize bullocks, who have been previously fattened on an allowance
of from four to five pounds of melted butter daily, conveyed to them
through the trough of a hollow stick.
On our way home we drove through the Chandi Chowk. It is the finest
native bazaar in India, the street being a mile long, and so broad that
there is room for four avenues, with two roads, and three pavements. In
the Chowk there is the Kotvale and the little mosque perched up among
the roofs of the houses, where Nadir Shah sat and ordered the massacre
in which he killed 100,000 people. Midway the street is intersected,
and the harmony of the quaint old houses with their overhanging wooden
balconies, much disturbed by the modern red building of the Delhi Museum
and Institute, and by the Gothic clock-tower immediately opposite. It
was in the Chandi Chowk that we bought some of those lovely embroideries
in gold and silver thread on satin and velvet, for which Delhi is justly
celebrated. We saw also some very valuable Cashmere shawls, one being
valued at 4000 rupees.
_Wednesday, January 28th._--A tremendous thunderstorm, with hailstones
as large as beans, kept us awake during part of the night. The lightning
shone in from the little windows high up in the wall, and was the most
vivid I have ever seen. When morning came, we thought the weather was
going to fail us for the first time since we have been in India, so
violent was the downpour of rain; but by eleven it cleared, and we were
able to start with a fine sky for our eleven miles' drive to the Kutub
Column.
There are a multitude of things to be seen on the way, and it would be
hard to surpass in interest the drives about Delhi. Endless are the
antiquarian remains that are scattered about the plain for miles around,
They are all ruins of old Delhis, for nine separate cities have at
different times been built and abandoned within a radius of twenty miles
of the present one. Thus, as you drive along, the ruin of an old fort, or
the remains of a city wall, are pointed out to you as Delhi number four
or Delhi number eight.
Our driver chose that we should not stop, as is customary, outside the
grand fort of the "old" Delhi, the most ancient of all the ruins, and
see the mosque inside the Octagonal Library, where the Emperor Humayoon
met his death by falling down the stairs of the tower. A mile further
on we come to the tomb of the emperor, a splendid mausoleum, standing
in a garden. It is rendered so imposing from the huge chabutra of red
sandstone on which it stands, open to the surrounding country. In the
centre of the circular room under the dome is the plain sarcophagus of
the emperor, the father of Akbar. As usual, the surrounding rooms forming
the corners of the circular room are full of the tombs of the wives,
sons, and daughters of the great man, and in one corner, side by side,
are the tombs of five mullahs. The trellis-work is shown of one of the
windows where it was broken by Captain Hodgson at the capture of the
King of Delhi in 1857. The king had taken refuge in the corner pointed
out, behind a bronze door, and the window was broken as being an easier
access. A bright blue enamelled dome near here is supposed to have been
the residence of the Begum's bangle-seller, and a brick one adjoining,
that of the royal barber. This might have been the case, for these
Eastern mausoleums were often used as palaces, previous to the death of
the person by whom they were built.
Then we drove on to a spot which is literally a village of the dead, so
closely serried are the marble sarcophagi, and where little courts and
mosques and mausoleums are visible in all directions.
Our chief wish in coming here was to see the grave of Jehanara Begum, the
eldest daughter of Shah Jahan, whose story is so simple and touching.
She became a _religieuse_ very young, and declared her intention of
never marrying. On her father's disgrace, Jehanara shared his prison and
captivity. She is buried here, and her grave is a plain grass one, and
the inscription at its head, dictated by herself, tells us the reason. It
says: "Let no rich canopy cover my grave. This grass is the best covering
for the tomb of the poor spirit. The humble, the transitory Jehanara, the
disciple of the sect of the Chistîs, the daughter of the Emperor Shah
Jahan."
Here also Prince Jehangir, a son of Akbar II., is buried, who was exiled
by the English Government on account of his frequent attempts to murder
his brother, and who is said to have died from his excessive love of
cherry-brandy. He was the favourite son of the emperor, who always
believed that he died of "sighing."
The celebrated Persian poet, Amir Khusran, lies near by, and these, with
many other tombs, are surrounded by that exquisite marble trellis-work
that forms the most beautiful feature of Mussulman architecture. These
tombs lie around or _in_ a small marble court of great purity, from the
centre of which rises a tiny dome of marble, whose octagonal angles
are marked with black lines. An open colonnade with Satacenic arches
richly carved, shows us the tomb of that most sacred Mohammedan saint,
Nizam-ud-din, within, whose sanctity still draws bands of pilgrims
to his tomb. The wooden canopy of the tomb is inlaid with exquisite
mother-of-pearl, that in the dim light looked iridescent, with opal tints
of blue and green and purple. A row of ostrich eggs were hung around,
and a Koran stood open at his head. The mosque, 600 years old, and very
quaintly carved, completes this little world, where so much of interest
lies gathered into such small compass. The Chausat Kumba is near by, the
sixty-four pillared hall, as it is called, which number is only made up
by the cunning device of counting the four sides to each of the square
pillars. Returning we look into a baoli or well, a deep tank walled in
all round, containing green and slimy water.
The crowd of natives who always accompany the Feringis (Europeans) point
upwards, and on the summit of the kiosk of a mosque, forty feet above
us we see a man, who, as we look, takes a run and a header into the
water. It seems quite a minute that we watch him falling through the
air, with his legs wide apart, bringing them quickly together just as he
plumps into the water with such thudding force, that you think he must
be crushed or cracked by the volition of his own weight. He is up in a
moment. The tank being very deep, the diver only goes a few feet down,
and does not reach the bottom; then he comes up the steps, shivering and
with teeth chattering, for his backsheesh. On account of the height of
the surrounding buildings the sun never reaches this tank for more than
three or four hours each day, and the water is intensely cold.
And now we have a drive of some four or five miles before us. The ruins
cluster thickly about the country here, and we see many of the small
mosques which mark the site of a Mohammedan cemetery, with their old
grave-stones and white pillars, which show, they say, the spot of a
"suttee" over the grave. A tremendous storm overtook us before we reached
the Dâk Bungalow, where we were to have "tiffin."
[Illustration: Column, Kutub Minar, Delhi.
Page 329.]
We went at once to the Kutub Minar, or Pillar, the loftiest column in
the world, or 234 feet high. But its chief interest is not derived from
this, but from its extreme beauty and unique character. Pillars and
columns there are all over the world, from the Pillars of Hercules to the
Monument near London Bridge, but none so beautiful, so original, so rich,
as the Kutub Minar of Delhi.
In the first place it is built of full-coloured red sandstone, and in the
second it is fluted; but the "fluting" does not convey the curious and
effective pattern, seen nowhere else I think, of a fluting alternately
"round" and "angular." The Kutub tapers, as all such mighty erections
must, that the laws of equilibrium may be carried out in their broad
base. It is divided into five stories by the balconies which run round
in a zigzag, and which are supported by a bracket where each angle
touches the column; but "the distance between these balconies diminishes
in proportion to the diameter of the shaft, thus adding to the apparent
height of the column by exaggerated perspective."
The first story, or the ground floor, is polygonal, with the fluting in
alternate rows of acute angles and rounded semicircles; the second is
entirely semicircle; the third all acute angles; the fourth is a circle
of white marble (a curious anomaly); and the fifth is just a band of
carving surmounted by the railed enclosure of the summit. These alternate
flutings give an irregular appearance to the "horizontal" lines of the
pillar when seen at a little distance off, and the base also appears to
bulge out much at the sides, where it enters the ground. Maintaining the
idea of the symmetry of the gradually ascending but decreasing scale, all
the delicate Arabic inscriptions, the bands of the Koran surrounding the
Minar, are arranged as follows:--Six are on the lowest, two are on the
second, and one on the third story, but none above on the next, where
the marble band replaces them. The top band on the lower story gives
the ninety-nine names of God in Arabic, and the remainder are variously
verses from the Koran, or praises of Muhammed bin Sám.
Twice the Kutub has been struck by lightning, once in 1068 and again
in 1503, as recorded in an inscription; but now it is made safe from
such damages by the lightning-rod which we see at the bottom and meet
again at the top of the 375 steps. Some idea is given of its narrowing
proportions, when I say that three men can easily stand abreast on the
lower steps, whereas here at the summit one man can with difficulty pass.
The view over the plain of Delhi in its utter flatness, reaching even
to the horizon, is very uninteresting and disappointing, on account of
the weary toil up. The Hindus claim the Kutub as of their erection, and
say it was made by Prithie Rajah to enable his daughter to see over the
plains to the sacred Ganges. Others think it is Mohammedan, and certainly
the inscriptions must have been added by them. Looking up to the Kutub
we noticed a curious effect--that the clouds moving quickly across the
sky gave to the tower the appearance of shifting instead. Near the Kutub
Minar is a similar column, commenced to match the other; but, left
unfinished, it is now falling into decay.
As usual, minor antiquities cluster round the greater one, and near
the Kutub is the tomb of the Emperor Altinash, the supposed builder
of the column, and the palace of the Emperor Alâ-ud-din, which has a
very beautiful horse-shoe arch. This is considered the first specimen
of Pathan architecture extant. But the principal interest here is a
mosque constructed from the remains of twenty-seven Hindu temples by
the first Mohammedan King of Delhi in 1193. The Hindu columns that have
been used by their successors to form a thick row of cloisters are most
admirably and quaintly carved. Gods and mythological figures form the
chief feature; but in one corner we see a bullock-cart, where the tire
and spokes of the wheel are very distinct; in another some men pounding
millet; while monkeys form the brackets, or the head of a bull the
ornamentation for a capital.
In the centre of this ruined temple stands the Iron Pillar of the famous
legend. It rises twenty-two feet above the ground, and it has been proved
by excavation that its foundation is at least sixty-two feet below the
surface.
Rajah Pithora consulted the Brahmins, or priests, as to the length of
his dynasty. They replied that if he could sink an iron shaft into the
earth, and pierce the snake-god Lishay, who upheld the earth, it would
endure for ever. Time elapsed, and the Rajah became curious to know the
result of the sinking of his iron shaft, and against all the Brahminical
warnings had the pillar uprooted. Great was the consternation when it was
found that the end was covered with blood. It was hastily put back again
into the earth, but the charm was broken. The kingdom of Pithora was
shortly conquered, his life was taken, and no Hindu king has ever reigned
in Delhi since.
It was a pretty sight to see the sacred goats living about the temple,
looking down over the ruined wall on a caravan of camels, whose drivers
had gone up the tower, where some took the opportunity for saying their
prayers.
When they came down again, I suddenly thought what a good opportunity
this would be to try riding on a camel. Seated on the edge and hindermost
point of his back, it was an awful moment when the camel sat forward on
his front knees, and then rose to the full length of his fore-legs. Then
I was at a very acute and ticklish angle, and he took his time, too, to
raise his hind-legs and bring me to a comfortable level once more. The
motion is easy and pleasant (though it makes your head "waggle" in a
ridiculous way) when taken at the slow deliberate walk that the driver
carefully led me; but I can well imagine the agony of the trot, when no
action of your body can keep time or swing with such an incomprehensible
motion. The worst part undoubtedly is the getting off. Down goes the
first division of the animal, the legs to the knees, and then the second,
at which the body rests on the ground, when you are in danger of being
precipitated over his head. Lastly the hind-legs subside, and you slide
off over his tail. At the word of command he performs these various
evolutions, but it is generally accompanied by a discontented snort
and grunt. I like the deliberate way the beast always walks, with that
affected turning of the head from side to side, and the nose disdainfully
held high in the air.
In returning home we passed the beautiful white dome of the mausoleum
of Sajdar Jang; but though beautiful outside, there is nothing to see
in the interior, and we were fairly weary of mosques, mausoleums, and
tombs to-day. Nor did we linger at the Junter Mundir, or Observatory, as
we had seen that finer one of Benares. From the distance we traced its
gigantic sun-dial, and the two towers exactly alike, with the pillars
that mark the 360°, so that one observation could be corrected by the
other. Needless to say that we were extremely tired at nightfall.
_Thursday, January 29th._--We drove up on to the Ridge, seeing Ludlow
Castle, of Mutiny fame, in front of which was stationed battery No. 2,
which was to open the main breach by which the city was stormed. Here
also is the Flagstaff Tower, to which the ladies of the station were
first taken when the hope of speedy relief from Meerut was yet with
them. It is a fitting and commanding situation for the red brick monument
erected to the British and native troops who "died in action, of wounds,
or of disease" during the mutiny "by their comrades, who lament their
loss, and the Government they served so well." "The Ridge" is also
celebrated for a well-known pacific measure of our times, for it saw the
great Durbar of the 1st of January, 1877, when The Queen was proclaimed
Empress of India. It and the surrounding plain presented a marvellous
sight, covered with the tents of rajahs and maharajahs, and of the
thousands gathered there, forming the largest camp that had ever been
seen.
We left Delhi that morning. In the afternoon we had a very interesting
meeting at Gaziabad with Syed Ahméd Khán, C.S.I., the founder and
Honorary Secretary of the Mohammedan Oriental College, and who is looked
up to by all the Mohammedans of India as their intellectual head. He came
thus far to meet us, and travelled back with us to Allyghur, where the
college is situated, as being most central for all parts of India. This
allowed of C. having two hours' conversation with him, and learning much
about the great Mohammedan community of India.
We reached Agra late that evening, about ten o'clock, when we made our
visit to the Taj by moonlight.