Sketches of social life in India

There are two different classes of people who know very little about India. First there is your old Indian, who fancies that he knows all about the presidency, say Bombay, in which he spent his time, but is as ignorant of the presidencies of Bengal and Madras as he is of China and Japan. Secondly, there is your real rural Englishman, who has had no relations or connections in India, and is, perhaps, still grieving over the untimely fate of some old friend who went out and suddenly died in India. There undoubtedly still exists in many English circles a considerable amount of ignorance and a deep-rooted prejudice against all things Indian. It is possible that this prejudice may be traced back to the ways and manners of the East Indian Nabobs of the last century, whose pompous display of wealth, suspected to have been acquired by dubious practices, was an offence and a scandal to the quiet English country gentleman, and, indeed, to all who did not contrive slyly to make a profit out of the Nabob’s money. The Nabob himself was usually shy and awkward, and almost always irritable and irascible, and remarkable for his peculiar social manners; so that it came to pass, that a general idea prevailed that the picture presented by the Nabob in England was but a reflection and reproduction of the social manners which he had acquired during his sojourn in the distant East. How far this feeling was correct it is not our present purpose to inquire. The race of Nabobs has come to an end. The pagoda-tree of fabulous memory no longer bears its golden fruit. An enormous change has come over the habits and manners of those Englishmen who now practically colonise India. For though colonisation is usually spoken of in a different sense, the British inhabitants of India are virtually a colony. The individual colonists may change, but as fast as one man goes another steps into his place; and thus it comes to pass that over the whole length and breadth of India there is now a large and continually growing colony of English families, who endeavour to maintain their old home feelings and to keep all those old surroundings which remind them of the land of their birth, to which they all hope in due course to return. They treasure in their hearts a warm and kindly remembrance of their old home, and they live in the fond belief that they may be well and kindly thought of by those whom they have left behind.

It is, however, certain that much ignorance, not unmixed with the old anti-Nabob prejudice, still prevails regarding the ways and habits of our countrymen in India. The most absurd inquiries are addressed to people who have been in India, which doubtless sometimes provoke answers more suited to the intellectual acquirements of the questioner than in actual accordance with the real facts of the case. If your fair and charming companion at a dinner-party persists in her conversation in filling all Indian houses with snakes and scorpions, she will be much more gratified to hear a few anecdotes which accord with her own assertions, than she would be to learn that it is possible to live for years in some parts of India without seeing either a snake or a scorpion. When recent editions of popular Indian hand-books solemnly inform the reader that rhinoceros hunting is an ordinary amusement in the suburbs of Calcutta, it is much easier to acquiesce in that information than to urge respectfully that alligators may sometimes be found in the ornamental waters of Battersea Park.

One of the greatest changes that has come over India in the last thirty years is to be found in the very great addition that has taken place to the numbers of the non-official classes. Fifty years ago Indian society consisted chiefly of the military and civil servants of the Indian Government. In Calcutta the judges, barristers, and other legal officials formed almost a separate set in the local society. Then came the great merchants, the representatives of the few but famous old commercial houses, whose names were from time to time mixed up with fabulous wealth and hopeless insolvency. In the interior of the country there were many parts where the face of a non-official European was unknown, whilst in some districts a few hardy Englishmen and Scotchmen were to be found engaged in the precarious cultivation of indigo or the manufacture of sugar, or in managing and farming the lands of native land-owners. But, taken all together, the non-official classes of Englishmen were counted by hundreds, where now they are numbered by thousands. In such a community the Governor-General and the members of his Council were pre-eminently the makers and rulers of society; and as in those days these great official people did not all run away to the hills of Simla and other mountain stations as soon as the weather became hot, the impress of their authority was never wanting in social life. The great annual ball at Government House in Calcutta on the Queen’s birthday (which is usually one of the hottest days of the year) was looked forward to by all classes with the deepest interest and anxiety, and it was on this occasion especially that the pretty half-caste girls of Calcutta had an opportunity of making their début in the grand world, to make havoc of the hearts of the gay young civilians and cadets and ensigns who were then amongst the acknowledged rulers of the society in the capital.

But those were the days before the mutinies, and before the introduction of railways. The steamers of the Peninsula and Oriental and other companies had not then a monopoly of passengers, and people still went out to India in sailing vessels round the Cape of Good Hope. There are some warm-hearted politicians who imagine that the change of Government in India, by the substitution of the name of the Queen for that of the old East India Company, has conferred inestimable benefits on all people who dwell in India. In one sense they are quite correct, because the benefits referable directly to this cause are almost as inestimable as they are invisible to the mind’s eye. But that a great change has come over the land since 1857 is undeniable. The well-known Mr. John Marshman, the historian of India, used to say that it was impossible to do any good in a country like Bengal, or for a people like the Bengalis, because, according to their national proverb, it was “impossible to carve rotten wood.” But the introduction of railways has almost falsified the national proverb. Wherever the iron road pervades the country, it gives a new basis of strength and vitality on which a new growth of life can arise. It is no exaggeration to say that this new power has affected materially the whole European and native community, and has worked and is working the most important social changes. By the use of the railway, the Viceroy and the provincial governors are enabled to resort without anxiety to the cool hill stations, from which the electric telegraph flashes their orders to the labourers in the hot vineyards of the plains. By the railway the wealthy and pious Hindoo pilgrims are enabled to proceed in ease and comfort to remote sacred shrines, and at such a moderate cost that their money-bags still contain ample store to propitiate the priests in charge of the temples and their idols. The wandering Caubul merchant no longer commits himself and his caravan of camels to a tedious march of several months to reach Calcutta, but stows himself, with his Persian cats and rugs and pomegranates and other wares, in the third-class carriage of a railway, and finds himself at his journey’s end in a few days, instead of months. Within the last few years it happened that a distinguished political officer was summoned from Quetta to Calcutta, a journey of about two thousand miles by railway, to be consulted by the Viceroy. He had scarcely returned to Quetta when a telegram came summoning him back to Calcutta for a further consultation. So that in less than a fortnight he twice traversed the whole continent of India without any great fatigue, and with very little risk to his health.

It would, perhaps, be difficult to find a stronger contrast in illustration of the increased facilities of travelling which railways in India afford, than is to be found in Bishop Heber’s celebrated journal, written about 1824, and in Mr. James Caird’s letters describing his recent visit to India in 1879. They both covered nearly the same ground, though their routes lay in different directions. The Bishop started eastwards by boat from Calcutta to Dacca. He took six weeks on his journey, and his chaplain died of illness contracted on the way. By railway and steamer Mr. Caird travelled from Calcutta to Dacca in about twenty-four hours. The Bishop set out again in his boat from Dacca to Allahabad, and accomplished the distance, which is about seven hundred miles, in nearly three months. Mr. Caird was enabled to cover the same distance by railway and steamer in three days. The Bishop went forth on horseback from Allahabad with a military escort to protect his tents and baggage, and made an erratic journey through the then independent province of Oude, and to the hill-station of Almora, and eventually through the principal cities of Rajpootana and Western India until he reached Bombay. This pilgrimage necessarily lasted for several months, as his progress was at the rate of about ten miles a day. Mr. Caird, by the help of the railways, started from Bombay and reached Allahabad, after visiting Oude, in about ten days. In fact a fortnight, or at the longest a month, is now deemed amply sufficient time for the travelling tourist to do India. And what is the result? In Bishop Heber’s journal the reader will find a series of faithful and kindly observations on the ways and manners of the people amongst whom he lived and journeyed day after day, whilst his remarks on the state of the crops are sound and intelligent, as being based on his own practical knowledge of the cultivation of the glebe of his English parish. In the letters of Mr. Caird and in other modern travellers, we find too many hasty conclusions such as are usually formed from rapid and imperfect observation. Mr. Caird’s knowledge of English agriculture may be unrivalled, but he had about the same opportunity of forming an opinion on Indian agriculture and the various measures necessary for its development, as the hero of the old story in “Scholasticus,” who was expected to form an opinion of a house from the inspection of a single brick.

With the improved facilities of communication with England, and also between the various parts of India, a great change has necessarily come over the social habits of Englishmen residing in India. The official classes have lost a great portion of their social influence, whilst the non-official classes have gained a corresponding advantage and position. This is due to many causes, partly to the mere force of numbers, partly to the different distribution of wealth and means, and in some places individual character has, as usual, contributed considerably to the change. We will endeavour to go into some detail as to the difference which is shown in different stages and classes of society, and it will be for our readers to judge whether the profit or loss, the gain or the disadvantage, lies with the present or the past generation.

The Governor-General of India has always been the chief fountain of honour, and the first pillar of the state and of all social influence. His dignity is now still further enhanced, as, under the title of Viceroy, His Excellency shines forth as the direct representative of his sovereign. But as regards this high position, so much depends on personal character and manners, that it would be difficult to arrive at a decision when contrasting the quiet dignity of Lord Canning or the genial presence of Lord Mayo with the haughty extravagance of Lord Ellenborough or the solid and imperturbable majesty of Lord Dalhousie. There is, however, a more persistent and successful endeavour under the modern régime to maintain the credit of Government House for hospitality, and what is vulgarly called entertainment. There are now ten people to be entertained where there was formerly only one. The Viceroy lives for eight months of the year at Simla, and for the remaining four months in Calcutta. At Simla the society is, to a great extent, official, swollen by the numerous representatives of the army with their families, who seek refuge at Simla from the fearful heat of the plains of Northern and Central India. A weekly dinner at Government House, and two or three State balls, suffice at Simla to provide for the gratification of the visitors, whilst the staff and household of the Viceroy, especially with Lord W. Beresford to guide them, used to contribute not a little to keep the ball of amusement rolling in all phases of society.

When the Viceroy and his suite descend to Calcutta in November, the usual notices are issued for a levee and a drawing-room. On several occasions in recent years an attempt has been made to induce all the ladies of Calcutta to appear at the drawing-room with trains and feathers, but it has usually been left optional to them, the result being that the trains and feathers which do appear sometimes afford a sort of clue to the character and social position of the lady who wears them. The ladies who have the private entrée at Government House make their bow first before the Viceroy’s wife, and then, with the gentlemen of their families, stand on either side of the Viceroy’s throne, in a sort of sacred semi-circle, in support of the Queen’s representative. The ladies who have not the private entrée are then admitted, and presented in the order of their arrival. There are always a few beautiful and graceful English women in Calcutta, who would be an ornament to any European Court. Very few native ladies appear at the drawing-room, but a stout and stately olive-complexioned East Indian (half-caste) lady sometimes sweeps by, waving her ostrich plumes and with a train of golden tissue twenty-four feet long; and she is, perhaps, succeeded by a lady from Burmah, where the lower part of the female costume scarcely amounts to a single petticoat. When the drawing-room is over, the ladies who have been presented are ushered into the upper drawing-room or ball-room of Government House, where they can rejoin the gentlemen under whose escort they came in their carriages to Government House. Long buffets are laid out with everything that is needed to refresh them after their exertions, and the band plays for about an hour, until they quietly disperse to their homes. This is an excellent arrangement, as it affords the ladies a suitable opportunity of displaying their dresses, and seeing their friends’ dresses, and receiving the admiration to which they are entitled. About four hundred ladies usually appear at the drawing-rooms in Calcutta.

The levee for men, which is held a day or two before or after the drawing-room, is a much less interesting, but more fatiguing business. Every man in Calcutta, European or Native, who can get the necessary vouchers for his admission, seems to make it his duty and his pleasure to attend. If he attends the levee, there is the chance that he may receive an invitation to dinner at Government House, or, more probably, to one of the great balls or “at homes” which are annually given by the Viceroy. Therefore, every European assistant and every clerk in the merchants’ offices, and banks, or in Government employment, strives for admission to the levee. Every native gentleman, who can obtain letters commendatory, is anxious to make his obeisance before the Viceroy. The great people, such as the members of Council, the judges of the High Court, the members of the Board of Revenue, and the secretaries of the Government, with the several military chiefs and heads of departments, who have the private entrée to Government House, are first presented to the Viceroy, and pay the penalty for their precedence by having to stand during the whole levee on either side of the Viceregal throne. A distant noise like the roaring of the sea is next heard, and there presently appears a heated and excited party of the representatives of the outside public, who have been successful in struggling to the front places and in being admitted first through the series of barriers by which the impatient crowd, numbering about twelve hundred, has to be restrained. The struggle to get to the front is something fearful until the protection of the first barrier is reached. Coat-tails are torn off, swords in their scabbards broken, hats treated as foot-balls, as the body of eager aspirants crushes forward. It is almost a comfort to find a soft place on this occasion between two fat and portly native gentlemen, who suffer grievously, but still gladly, for the honour and glory which they presently hope to attain. Several of the early barriers which have been already mentioned are kept against the crowd by non-commissioned officers, but as the candidates approach the throne, they come under the manipulation of the A.D.C.s and other officers on the staff, whose brilliant appearance sometimes seems almost to fascinate the mind of the uninitiated. At last the foremost comer is bidden by the A.D.C. to advance, card in hand, to meet his Viceregal master. He steps forward and hands his card to the Military Secretary, who announces his name in a loud voice, and the next two paces bring him in front of the Viceroy. Some men make a proper obeisance and pass on. Some give a little sort of a nod to the Viceroy, and, looking bewildered, try to retire by the way they had advanced, when an A.D.C. promptly interferes. A difficult case sometimes arises, when the Viceroy, on recognising someone to whom he desires to be gracious, puts forth his hand to be shaken. This proceeding being observed by the man who comes next, he cheerfully puts forth his hand to be shaken by the Viceroy, but meeting with no reciprocity, he slinks off in dismay.

Military uniform and the ordinary evening dress of civilians are the principal costumes. But the native gentlemen who appear present every variety of dress, more or less national or fanciful, according to their taste. A great deal of misunderstanding exists, unfortunately, on the subject of native dress. It is the present fashion with educated natives to despise the old simple national costume, and to profess to regard it as typical of servile submission to a conquering race. A young educated Bengali would not condescend to wear a robe of fine white muslin and a white turban (containing, perhaps, a hundred yards of the finest muslin), in which dress his father and grandfather were so becomingly arrayed. A new kind of turban has been invented for them of some coloured stiff material, and their body-dress is a long sort of single-breasted Noah’s Ark garment, of cloth or silk, reaching nearly down to the ancles. White stockings and patent-leather shoes or boots are considered very correct, and sometimes cloth trousers are visible above the boots, but not unfrequently this portion of European costume is wanting, and the native garment called a dhooti lurks beneath the Noah’s Ark coat. Thus arrayed, the wealthy young Bengali presents himself before the Viceroy. A comparatively recent fashion for educated native gentlemen is to appear in their college caps and gowns, which indicate the high degrees that they have taken in the local universities. But, perhaps, really the proudest man among them is he who assumes a regular English evening costume, with his head bare like a Briton, his beautiful black hair richly oiled and curled, and a white tie round his neck, and white kid gloves on his hands. From this it is evident to all the world that his mind and body have really achieved practical independence, and that he is on perfect equality with his foreign rulers.

But the levee must come to an end. The officers of the Volunteer corps who have been engaged on duty are presented to the Viceroy, and, finally, the native officers of the native regiments which have been on duty are brought up and go through the very graceful ceremony of proffering the hilts of their swords to His Excellency. The hundreds who have attended the levee then disperse to their homes, no refreshment being provided after the levee, although, as has been mentioned, the ladies, after the drawing-room, are more kindly treated. Every man, therefore, seeks the earliest opportunity of quenching his thirst at his own house or club, and the pipe of peace probably consoles him for all the loss of temper and damage of apparel which he sustained in struggling into the presence of the Viceroy. It is only fair to admit that it is reported in the Indian papers that at Lord Ripon’s levees a successful attempt has been made to prevent all the crushing and struggling among the men for priority, which had been so disgracefully prevalent at previous levees.

It has been mentioned above that most of the men who go to the levee, do so in the hope of getting an invitation to dinner at Government House, or, at least, to one of the balls, or “at homes,” or garden-parties, which are given by the Viceroy in the course of the season. With regard to the dinner invitations, there are always one or more experienced A.D.C.’s on the Staff who are careful to weed the dinner-list judiciously; but with huge weekly or bi-weekly dinners of sixty or eighty persons, the Viceroy generally manages to gratify the vanity, and satisfy the appetite of most of his ambitious visitors and their wives in the course of the season. Doubtless much heart-burning exists on the part of those who are not invited to these feasts, especially when they know that any friends of their own immediate circle are invited, and find themselves omitted. The A.D.C.-in-waiting sometimes has to receive an irascible visitor who wants to know the reason why he and his spouse have not been invited to dinner; and letters of remonstrance on this subject are believed to be by no means uncommon. But “a mild answer turneth away wrath,” and there is no instance on record of the A.D.C. having ever suffered from the much-threatened horsewhip.

There are very few native gentlemen who care to meet their European brethren at the dinner-table, and they, therefore, seldom appear at the Government House dinner-parties. It is not that our native friends, especially of the wealthy and educated classes, do not appreciate a dinner in the English or European style, but, for reasons which it is not easy to explain satisfactorily, they seem to prefer to indulge themselves with such meals in the privacy of their own houses. It has also been considered advisable, of late years, not to invite native gentlemen to the balls at Government House. The reason for this can be put in a very simple form. The native gentleman does not bring his wife or daughters to the dance, and he himself does not dance. Therefore his presence in a ball-room is unnecessary. This explanation does not cover the whole of the case, but it is sufficient for our present purpose. Almost everyone knows that native ideas on the subject of dancing differ almost entirely from our own. Perhaps it may be permissible to mention one very notable exception to ordinary native habits in the matter of dancing. We refer to a young Rajah, the ruler of a semi-independent province, who has had the good fortune to be brought up under most judicious and capable English tutors and guardians. This young prince is equally good at polo and rackets and lawn-tennis, and most other European sports. He is a first-rate shot and a very fair horseman. In a ball-room his success is unmistakeable, and as he has the manners of an English gentleman (than which we can offer no higher compliment), he is also fortunate in having so mastered all the difficulties of waltzing, that it is generally understood that he is accepted by the best dancers in a ball-room as a very welcome partner. He wears a sort of semi-military costume, with a velvet tunic slightly braided with gold, and it would be difficult to find any man more thoroughly conversant with all social etiquette, or more familiar with the colloquial niceties of the English language.

In order, therefore, to suit the tastes of the great majority of the native gentlemen who wish to display their loyalty, the Viceroy gives several evening parties, which are known as “at homes”; and these are varied by garden-parties in the gardens adjoining Government House, which take place about sunset, and are continued until dark, when the grounds and adjacent buildings are lit up with a brilliant illumination. The “at homes” take place indoors, and as there is no dancing or music they are not very lively entertainments; but an “at home” everywhere depends chiefly on the capacity of those who are invited to entertain themselves from their own resources, and this element is not strong amongst our native friends. At a garden-party they are much more at ease and happy. They can bring their little grand-children to the garden-party and see the pleasure which the children enjoy, and the admiration which they sometimes attract. This is rather a curious feature in native society. The grandfather cannot bring out his wife or his daughter, according to native usage, so he appears in charge of his grand-children. The grandfather himself may be of the mature age of forty-five. His married daughter is perhaps about twenty-five, and the grand-children are usually under ten years of age. Little native girls of that age are exceedingly picturesque, and often absolutely pretty, but about that age they are married, and withdrawn from the gaze of the outer world. Certainly the customs and habits of our native friends are mysterious; but there is no occasion to pity them because they firmly believe that though their ways are not as our ways, they are in every respect much preferable and superior to those of the European strangers.

We may say one word, before parting, regarding the balls given by the Viceroy at Government House in Calcutta. There are occasionally what are called small dances, when about 150 or 200 of the “upper ten” are invited; but a real dignity-ball means the issue of above 1,200 invitations, which are intended to include all whose names are on what is called “the Government House List.” It is a very pretty and interesting sight when the room is crowded, about 10 o’clock, and the Viceroy with his wife and their private friends, and staff, make their appearance in procession and take their places for the opening quadrille. A sacred space is corded off for the Viceroy’s quadrille, the ends of the cords being held or guarded by some of the handsome young privates of the Viceroy’s native body-guard, in their gorgeous scarlet uniforms and plumed head-dresses. These body-guard men are quite a study, as they stand gazing imperturbably on the dazzling scene. In the early and crowded part of a Government House ball, it is usually expedient to walk about with someone who is able to criticise the appearance and dresses of the ladies. There are representatives of nearly all nations, and some of the Armenian and Jewish ladies are conspicuous for the splendid diamonds and gorgeous semi-oriental dresses which they wear. The ball-room usually looks very bright with the numerous military uniforms and political and diplomatic costumes, which present a happy contrast to the ordinary civilian evening dress. It might be deemed impertinent to go into detail regarding the dresses of the ladies, but a critical eye can usually distinguish the fashions of at least three years, the latest arrived belles exhibiting the modes of the latest London season, whilst many are about a year out of date, and a few still adhere to the dresses which were in vogue two years before. However, the dancing is always carried on with much spirit, and there is no lack of good partners for those pretty girls who are seen to dance well. About 12 o’clock supper is announced, and a move is made to the supper-room on the next floor, where there is never any want of all that is needed to cheer the heart of man or woman. Usually the Viceroy retires soon after supper, and probably has an hour of telegrams and urgent business to get through before he can go to sleep. The rest of the company carry on the ball until the programme is exhausted, and even the most large-hearted chaperones are obliged to ask the A.D.C.’s to allow no more extra dances. And so, about 3 o’clock in the morning, Government House relapses into silence and repose.