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Ebook has 5651 lines and 469337 words, and 114 pages

NOTES 335

INDEX 361

INTRODUCTION.

BY SIR ALFRED C. LYALL.

At different times in the world's history the nations foremost in civilization have undertaken the enterprise of founding a great European dominion in Asia, and have accomplished it with signal success. The Macedonian Greeks led the way; they were followed by the Romans; and in both instances their military superiority and organizing genius enabled them to subdue and govern for centuries vast populations in Western Asia. European science and literature flourished in the great cities of the East, where the educated classes willingly accepted and supported foreign rulership as their barrier against a relapse into barbarism; nor have we reason for believing that it excited unusual discontent or disaffection among the Asiatic peoples. But the Greek and Roman Empires in Asia have disappeared long ago, leaving very little beyond scattered ruins; and in modern times it is the British dominion in India that has revived and is pursuing the enterprise of ruling and civilizing a great Asiatic population, of developing the political intelligence and transforming the ideas of an antique and, in some respects, a primitive society.

That the task must be one of prodigious difficulty, not always free from danger, has been long known to those who watched the experiment with some accurate foresight of the conditions attending it. Yet the recent symptoms of virulent disease in some parts of the body politic, though confined to certain provinces of India, have taken the British nation by surprise. Mr. Chirol's book has now exhibited the present state and prospect of the adventure; he has examined the causes and the consequences of the prevailing unrest; he has collected ample evidence, and he has consulted all the best authorities, Indian and European, on the subject. His masterly analysis of all this material shows wide acquaintance with the facts, and rare insight into the character and motives, the aims and methods, of those who are engaged in stirring up the spirit of revolt against the British Government. He has pointed to instances where the best intentions of the administrators have led them wrong; his whole narrative illustrates the perils that beset a Government necessarily pledged to moral and material reform, which finds its own principles perverted against its efforts, and its foremost opponents among the class that has been the first to profit by the benefits which that Government has conferred upon them.

The nineteenth century had been pre-eminently an era of the development of rapid and easy communication between distant parts of the world, particularly between Europe and Asia. So long as these two continents remained far apart the condition of Asia was unchanged and stationary; if there was any change it had been latterly retrogressive, for in India at any rate the eighteenth century was a period of abnormal and extensive political confusion. In Europe, on the other hand, national wealth, scientific discoveries, the arts of war and peace, had made extraordinary progress. Population had increased and multiplied; and partly by territorial conquests, partly by pacific penetration, the Western nations overflowed politically into Asia during the nineteenth century. They brought with them larger knowledge, novel ideas and manners, which have opened the Asiatic mind to new influences and aspirations, to the sense of needs and grievances not previously felt or even imagined. The effect, as can now be clearly perceived, has been to produce an abrupt transition from old to new ways, from the antique order of society towards fresh models; and to this may be ascribed the general unsettlement, the uneasy stir, that pervade Asia at the present moment. Its equilibrium has been disturbed by the high speed at which Europe has been pushing eastward; and the principal points of contact and penetration are in India.

That in India the British Government has found the centres of active disaffection located in the Maratha country and in Lower Bengal, is a phenomenon which can be to a large extent accounted for by reference to Anglo-Indian history. The fact that Poona is one focus of sedition has been attributed in this volume to the survival among the Maratha Brahmins of the recollection that "far into the eighteenth century Poona was the capital of a theocratic State in which behind the Throne of the Peshwas both spiritual and secular authority were concentrated in the hands of the Brahmins." The Peshwas, as their title implies, had been hereditary Ministers who governed in the name of the reigning dynasty founded by the famous Maratha leader Sivajee, whose successors they set aside. But before the end of the eighteenth century the secular authority of the Peshwas had become almost nominal, and the real power in the State had passed into the grasp of a confederation of chiefs of predatory armies, whose violence drove the last Peshwa, more than a century ago, to seek refuge in a British camp. The political sovereignty of the Brahmins had disappeared from the time when he placed himself under British protection; and the Maratha chiefs only acknowledged our supremacy after some fiercely contested battles; with the result that they were confined to and confirmed in the possession of the territories now governed by their descendants. But it is quite true that to the memory of a time when for once, and once only, in Indian history, their caste established a great secular dominion, may be ascribed the tendency to disloyalty among the Maratha Brahmins.

The case of Bengal is very different. Poona and Calcutta are separated geographically almost by the whole breadth of India between two seas; yet the historical antecedents of the Bengalees and Marathas are even further apart. The Marathas were the leaders of revolt against the Moghal Empire; they were formidable opponents to the rise of the British power; their chiefs fought hard before yielding to British authority. On the other hand, Lower Bengal belonged to a province that had fallen away from the Moghal Empire, and which was transferred from its Mahomedan Governor to a British General by the result of a single battle at Plassey. The Bengalees took no part in the contest, and they had very good reason for willing acquiescence in the change of masters.

In a comparison, therefore, of the Marathas with the people of Bengal, we have a remarkable instance of the production of similar effects from causes very distinct and dissimilar. In the former case their present unrest may be traced, in a large degree, to the memories of early rulership and to warlike traditions. In the latter case there can be no such recollections, military or political, for the country has had no experience whatever of a state of war, since Lower Bengal is perhaps the only considerable province of India which has enjoyed profound peace during nearly 150 years. It is no paradox to suggest that this prolonged tranquillity has had some share in stimulating the audacity of Bengalee unrest, for the literary classes seem to have no clear notion that the real game of revolutionary politics is necessarily rough and dangerous--certain, moreover, to fail whenever the British Government shall have resolved that it is being carried too far, and must end.

But it is beyond question that the promoters of disaffection on both sides of India have been making strenuous exertions to enlist in the movement the influence of Brahminism; and upon this point the book rightly lays particular stress.

The position and privileges of the Brahmins are rightly compared to those of the Levites; they are the depositories of orthodox tradition; they preside over and hold a monopoly for the performance of the sacred rites and offices; and ritual in Hinduism, as in most of the ancient religions, is the essential element; it is closely connected with the rules of caste, which unite and divide innumerable groups within the pale of Hinduism. And in India the peculiar institution of caste, the strict regulation of social intercourse, particularly in regard to inter-marriage and the sharing of food, prevails to an extent quite unknown elsewhere in the world. The divisions of caste have always operated to weaken the body politic in India, and thus to facilitate foreign conquest; but, on the other hand, they have opposed a stiff barrier to the invasion of foreign religions, to the fusion of alien races with the Hindu people, and to any success in what may be called national unification.

TO ADA.

So must the sinewy Centaur snort and rear, As some sweet maiden-mare trots wickedly Across his pagan path, burning his very heart; Flicking the flies from off her heaving flanks, The amorous flies who fill their lips with blood; And while his life-blood riots in his hocks, She spreads her cunning heels and whisks her tail; Then kicks the bitter sand into his eyes, Still gazing smarting on the supple form-- For I have felt a joy new-born to pain! For I have seen that silken syren glide Across the desert, hight old Astley's Fane. My breast could hardly flutter as she came Bare-backed before my timorous sight; my nails Curved inward to my palms, and such a sweet Soft tremor crept around my nervous knees. I swooned but for the kindly guardian of the box, Who brought me welcome water at my wish, And damped my throbbing temples. On my bed I rolled and rioted in frenzied fret, For turn howe'er I would, upon the walls, Across the sheets, the beauteous Ada rode, Scenting the air with black-head clustering hair, Loading the senses with soft-thrilling sighs; While through the rosy lips pale pearls of teeth Flashed hungrily. Strapped to her showy steed, She bites her charger in the side, till lips Run red with the brave beast's blood; and as the sting Of her small fangs urges his wild career, So this hot flame that chars me to the bones, Spreads out the fire of jealousy, and cries, Mazeppa flies across the sea to greet Great Athos-Porthos-Aramis.

ST. SIMEON STYLITES.

Talking of bards, one day a pagan poet Approach'd the pillar, and began to sing; The blessed Simeon could not choose but know it, So high the minstrel pitch'd his voice and string. This bard was Greek in sentiment and style; A Venus-worshipper--profuse of curses On those who deem'd his ethics loose and vile: I give you a translation of his verses:--

"Closed eyelids that hide like a shutter, Hard eyes that have visions apart, The grisly gaunt limbs, and the utter And deadly abstraction of heart; Whence all that is joyous and bright is Expell'd as both vicious and vain O, stony and stolid Stylites, Our Patron of Pain!"

"There can be but warfare between us, For thine is a spiritual creed, And mine is the worship of Venus, On "raptures and roses" I feed; Self-torture's thine only employment, We both feel the bliss and the bane, For woe will oft spring from enjoyment, Our Patron of Pain!"

"Can joys be of Martyrdom's giving? Men seek them, and change at a breath The leisures and labours of living, For the ravings and rackings of death: To stand all alone on that height is An action unsought and insane, O, moveless and morbid Stylites, Our Patron of Pain!"

"There are those who still offer to Bacchus, There are men who Love's goddess still own, What right have new faiths to attack us? And why are our shrines overthrown? There are poets, inspired by Castalia, Whose lyres have Anacreon's strain, Whose lives are one long saturnalia, Our Patron of Pain!"

"We sing of voluptuous blisses, Of all that thy rigour would spurn, Of "biting" and "ravenous" kisses, Of bosoms that beat and that burn; To all that is earthy and carnal, Our votaries' souls we would chain, We breathe of the chamber and charnel Our Patron of Pain!"

"Oho! for the days of sweet vices, The glory of goddess and Greek! . Oho! for the days when Endymion Thro' love o'er Diana did reign! These, these were Elysian, St. Simeon, Our Patron of Pain!"

"We'll crown us with myrtle and laurel, We'll wreathe us in Paphian flowers, To be and make others immoral, We'll ply our poetical powers; Our worship shall be Aphrodite's, To woman the wine we will drain, O, loveless and lonely Stylites, Our Patron of Pain!"

The holy man, it need not be remark'd, Turn'd as deaf ear to such lascivious singing As when a serpent hiss'd or wild dog barked, Or raven croak'd around his column winging; Immovable in body as in mind, He bore his life's insufferable tedium, It seems a pity that he could not find 'Twixt vice and virtue's height some "happy medium."

PEISTHETAIRUS. Gentlemen: Happy to see you in the Realms of Air As yet the worthy Mayor and Aldermen And Councillors of the Town have not decided Whether they want a Poet Laureate. But, if 'twill ease your minds to sing a little, I'll try and listen. As my memory Fails me entirely in regard to names, Let me without the least discourtesy Name you by your appearance. Amorous Naso Was named from his chief feature. So I beg To call you HAIR, and BEARD, and BROW.

THE THREE POETS. Agreed.

EUELPIDES. For this delightful tourney of rhyme I hunger: Who's to begin, my master?

PEISTHETAIRUS. Why, the younger. For the topic--as 'tis tropic Heat at present--perhaps 'twere pleasant If each Paladin His ballad in Put salad in. But there must be no single metre, please That's not allowed by Dr. Guest, of Caius,

BROW.

"O cool in the summer is salad, And warm in the winter is love; And a poet shall sing you a ballad Delicious thereon and thereof. A singer am I, if no sinner, My Muse has a marvellous wing, And I willingly worship at dinner The Sirens of Spring.

Take endive--like love it is bitter; Take beet--for like love it is red; Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter, And cress from the rivulet's bed: Anchovies foam-born, like the lady Whose beauty has maddened this bard, And olives, from groves that are shady; And eggs--boil 'em hard."

BEARD.

Waitress, with eyes so marvellous black, And the blackest possible lustrous gay tress, This is the month of the Zodiac When I want a pretty deft-handed waitress. Bring a china-bowl, you merry young soul; Bring anything green, from worsted to celery; Bring pure olive-oil from Italy's soil-- Then your china-bowl we'll well array. When the time arrives chip choicest chives, And administer quietly chili and capsicum-- Young girls do not quite know what's what 'Till as a Poet into their laps I come). Then a lobster fresh as fresh can be ; After which I fancy we Shall want a few bottles of Heidsieck or Roederer.

HAIR.

"The 'Positivists' is the most famous piece in the book, containing the lines:--

"There was an APE in the days that were earlier; Centuries passed, and his hair became curlier; Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist-- Then he was MAN, and a Positivist."

"and 'Skymaking' is another oft quoted bit. I thought, perhaps, that you had written parodies on these; though it seemed unlikely, because satiric verse does not lend itself to parody. I am always interested in anything connected with my husband's works, because I truly believe in his genius. I may perhaps be somewhat partial in my judgment, for Mortimer was a more brilliant talker than writer. Day after day I enjoyed his wit, and I used to be so sorry there were not more to hear it: but he was quite content with his audience of one.

"My husband has written many parodies. If you would like to quote them I can refer you to them."

But this kind offer of assistance was not to be fulfilled, for Mrs. Collins complained at the end of the letter of her failing strength, and in less than three months she passed away.

A MATCH.

If I were Anglo-Saxon, And you were Japanese, We'd study storks together, Pluck out the peacock's feather And lean our languid backs on The stiffest of settees; If I were Anglo-Saxon, And you were Japanese.

If you were Della-Cruscan, And I were A.-Mooresque, We'd make our limbs look less in Artistic folds, and dress in What once were tunics Tuscan In DANTE'S days grotesque; If you were Della-Cruscan, And I were A.-Mooresque.

If I were mock Pompeian, And you Belgravian Greek, We'd glide 'mid gaping Vandals In shapeless sheets and sandals, Like shades in Tartarean Dim ways remote and bleak; If I were mock Pompeian, And you Belgravian Greek.

If you were Culture's scarecrow, And I the guy of Art I'd learn in latest phrases Of either's quaintest crazes To lisp, and let my hair grow, While yours you'd cease to part; If you were Culture's scarecrow, And I the guy of Art.

If I'd a Botticelli, And you'd a new Burne-Jones, We'd doat for days and days on Their mystic hues, and gaze on With lowering looks that felly We'd fix upon their tones; If I'd a Botticelli, And you'd a new Burne-Jones.

If you were skilled at crewels, And I, a dab at rhymes, I'd write delirious "ballads," While you your bilious salads Where stitching upon two ells Of coarsest crass, at times; If you were skilled at crewels, And I, a dab at rhymes.

If I were what's "consummate," And you were quite "too too," 'Twould be our Eldorado To have a yellow dado, Our happiness to hum at A teapot tinted blue; If I were what's "consummate," And you were quite "too too."

If you were what "intense" is, And I were like "decay," We'd mutely muse or mutter In terms distinctly utter, And find out what the sense is Of this AEsthetic lay; If you were what "intense" is, And I were like "decay."

If you were wan, my lady, And I, your lover, weird, We'd sit and wink for hours At languid lily-flowers, Till, fain of all things fady, We faintly--disappeared! If you were wan, my lady, And I, your lover, weird.

Between the gate post and the gate I lingered with my love till late; And what cared I for time of night Till wakened by the watch dogs bite, And thud of leathering boxtoed fate Between the gate post and the gate.

Between the seaside and the sea I kissed my love and she kissed me; But rapturous day was grewsome night And what is love but bloom and blight? And what is kiss of mine to thee Between the seaside and the sea.

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