One Lady, In Addition To The Dance, Favoured Us With "The Marseillaise"
With The French Words, Being Occasionally Prompted By The Head
Of The Orchestra, Who Nearly Worked Himself Into A Frenzy While
Accompanying The Dancers With Both Vocal And Instrumental Music At
The Same Time.
The Maharajah himself was plainly dressed in white
robes, with a pair of pale-green striped silk pantaloons fitting his
legs like stockings from the knee down, and terminating in a pair of
English socks, of which he seemed immensely proud.
His turban was of
the palest shade of green, and (in strong contrast to the rest of his
court) without any ornament whatever. The little heir to the throne -
a nice little blackamoor of about eight years of age - was, like his
father, perched upon a chair, and arrayed in a green and gold turban,
pants, and socks, with the addition of a velvet gold-embroidered coat,
while round his neck were three or four valuable necklaces, one of
pear-shaped emeralds of great size and beauty. After a few dances the
doors of the banqueting-room were thrown open, and his Highness led
the way into dinner with the commissioner. On entering, we found a
capital dinner laid out English fashion, and with a formidable army
of black bottles ranged along the table. The Maharajah, however, had
disappeared, and we were left to feed without a host. The grandees,
meanwhile, remained outside, and still enjoyed the dances, ranging
themselves upon their haunches in front of the rows of chairs which
not one among them would have dared to trust himself in for either
love or money. Considering that our entertainer was a Hindoo, and
that his dinner-giving appliances were limited, each person having
to bring his own knife, fork, spoon, and chair, we fared very well,
and after having drunk his health, again assembled in the court,
where we found Rumbeer Singh still occupied with the wearisome nach,
and reattired in a gorgeous dress of green velvet and gold. After a
short stay he got up, and we all followed his example, glad enough
to bring the entertainment to an end, and betake ourselves to our
boats. At the stairs there was a desperate encounter with innumerable
boatmen, each boat having six, eight, or ten sailors, and all being
equally anxious to uphold the credit of their craft by being the
first to land their masters safe, at home. We were fortunate enough to
reach our own at once, and, with a shouting crew, away we dashed up
the river, leaving the others struggling, fighting, and flourishing
their paddles in the air, in a way which was more suggestive of an
insurrection scene in Masaniello than the departure of guests from
a peaceable gentleman's own hall door on the night of an evening party.
On the stairs there was an extraordinary assemblage of slippers, which
seemed to hold the same relative position that hats and cloaks do in
more enlightened communities - that is, the good ones were taken by
the owners of the bad, and the proprietors of the bad ones were fain
to make the best of the exchange. Next morning our khidmutgar came up
with a most doleful countenance and presented to our notice a pair of
certainly most ill-favoured slippers, which a fellow true-believer had
INADVERTENTLY substituted for a pair of later date. The lost ones had,
in fact, only recently been received from the boot-maker; and the
blow was difficult to bear with resignation, even by the saintliest
follower of Islam - a reputation which our retainer came short of
by a very long way indeed.
JULY 4. - Having an accumulation of letters to answer, we devoted the
day to writing - merely enjoying a little OTIUM CUM DIG. - in the
evening, reclining in our boat while serenaded by the crew of boatmen.
JULY 5. - Walked up, before daybreak, to the Tukht e Suleeman,
or Solomon's throne, "the mountainous Portal," which Moore speaks
of in LALLA ROOKH, and which forms the most striking landmark in
the valley.[8]
From the summit there was a curious view of the multitudinous wooden
houses and the sinuous windings of the river, which could alone be
obtained from such a bird's-eye point of inspection. An old temple
at the top was in the hands of the Hindoo faction, being dedicated
to the goddess Mahadewee, and in charge of it I found two of the
dirtiest fukeers, or religious mendicants, I ever had the pleasure
of meeting. One was lying asleep, with his feet in a heap of dust and
ashes, and the other was listlessly sitting, without moving a muscle,
warming himself in the morning sun. Both were almost naked, and had
their bodies and faces smeared with ashes and their hair long and
matted. They appeared to have arrived at a state of almost entire
abstraction, and neither of them even raised his eyes or seemed to
be in the slightest degree aware of my presence, although I took a
sketch of one of them, and stared at both, very much as I would have
done at some new arrival of animals in the Zoological Gardens.
In the evening we went again to Saifula Baba's and visited the
workrooms, where we were much astonished by the quickness with which
the people worked the intricate shawl patterns with a simple needle,
and no copy to guide them.
The first stages of the work are not very promising, but the finished
result, when pressed and rolled and duly exhibited by that true
believer Saifula Baba, in his snowy gown and turban, was certainly
in every way worthy of its reputation.
Returning home, we visited a garden where any of the English visitors
who die in the valley are buried - the Maharajah presenting a
Cashmere shawl, in some instances, to wrap the body in. There were
about eight or ten monuments built of plaster, with small square
slabs for inscriptions. One of these was turned topsy-turvey, which
was not to be wondered at, for a native almost always holds English
characters upside-down when either trying to decipher them himself
or when holding them to be read by others.
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