No solemnity marks this cremation by the river's edge. The relatives who bring down the body haggle over the price of the wood and try to cheapen the sum demanded by the low-caste man for fire for the burning. The greed of the priest who performs the last rite and who prepares the relatives for the cremation is an unlovely sight. All about the burning ghat where the poor dead are being reduced to ashes hundreds are bathing or washing their clothes. The spectacle that so profoundly impresses a stranger is to them so common as to excite no interest.

Lucknow and Cawnpore, Cities of The Mutiny

Lucknow and Cawnpore are the two cities of India that are most closely associated in the minds of most readers with the great mutiny. The one recalls the most heroic defense in the history of any country; the other recalls the most piteous tragedy in the long record of suffering and death scored against the Sepoys. The British government in both of these cities has raised memorials to the men who gave their lives in defending them and, though the art is inferior in both, the story is so full of genuine courage, loyalty, devotion and self-sacrifice that it will always find eager readers. So the pilgrims to these shrines of the mutiny cannot fail to be touched by the relics of the men and women who showed heroism of the highest order. When one goes through the rooms in the ruined Residency at Lucknow he feels again the thrill with which he first read of the splendid defense made by Sir Henry Lawrence and of the Scotch girl who declared she heard the pipes of the Campbells a day before they actually broke on the ears of the beleaguered garrison. And when one stands in front of the site of the old well at Cawnpore, into which the bleeding bodies of the butchered women and children of the garrison were thrown, the tears come to his eyes over the terrible fate of these poor victims of the cruelty of Nana Sahib. The sight of these Indian cities also makes one appreciate more fully the tremendous odds against which this mere handful of English men and women contended.

Lucknow is the fifth city in size in the Indian Empire. It is reached by a six hours' ride from Benares which is interesting, as the railroad runs through a good farming country, in which many of the original trees have been left. Lucknow at the outbreak of the mutiny was fortunate in the possession of one of the ablest army commanders in the Indian service. Sir Henry Lawrence, when he saw that mutiny was imminent, gathered a large supply of stores and ammunition in the Residency at Lucknow. When the siege began Lawrence found himself in a well-fortified place, with large supplies. About one thousand refugees were in the Residency and the safety of these people was due largely to the massive walls of the building and to the skill and courage with which the defense was handled. In reading the story of this siege of five months, from June to November, it seems incredible that a small garrison could withstand so constant a bombardment of heavy guns and so harassing a fire of small arms; but when you go through the Residency the reason is obvious. Here are the ruins of a building erected by an old Arab chief during the Mohammedan rule in Lucknow. The walls are from three to five feet in thickness, of a kind of flat, red brick like the modern tile. When laid up well in good mortar such walls are as solid as though built of stone. What added to the safety of the building was the great underground apartments, built originally for summer quarters for the old Moslem's harem, but used during the siege as a retreat for the women and children. So well protected were these rooms that only one shell ever penetrated them and this shot did no damage. The building reveals traces of the heavy fire to which it was subjected, but in no case were the walls broken down.

The story of the siege of Lucknow has been told by poets and prose writers for over a half century, but the theme is still full of interest. Tennyson dealt with it in a ballad that is full of fire, each verse ending with the spirited refrain:

All that it is necessary to do here is to refresh the reader's memory with the salient events. The besieged were admirably handled by competent officers and they beat off repeated attacks by the mutineers (who outnumbered them more than one hundred to one). Lawrence was fatally wounded on July the second and died two days later. In September General Havelock, after desperate fighting, made his way into Lucknow, but his force was so small that only fifteen hundred men were added to the garrison. It was not until November the seventeenth that the garrison was finally relieved by the union of forces under Havelock and Outram and Sir Colin Campbell. Never in the history of warfare has a garrison had to endure greater hardships than that of Lucknow. Incessant attacks by night and day kept the small force worn out by constant guard duty and, to add to their miseries, intense heat was made more merciless by swarms of flies. When one bears in mind that the Indian summer brings heat of from one hundred and ten to one hundred and forty degrees it may be seen how great was the courage of the garrison that could fight bravely and cheerfully under such heavy odds. The memorial tablets at Lucknow, Delhi, Cawnpore and other places bear witness to this heroism of the British soldier during the mutiny, but you do not fully appreciate this splendid courage until you see the country and feel the power of its sun.

Cawnpore, which is only three hours' ride from Lucknow, is another city of India that recalls the saddest tragedy of the mutiny. Here it was that bad judgment of the general in charge led to great suffering and the final butchery of all except a few of the residents. Sir Hugh Wheeler, a veteran officer, wisely doubted the fidelity of the Sepoys and decided to establish a place where he could store supplies and assure a safe asylum for the women and children; but, instead of selecting the magazine, which was on the river and had strong walls, he actually went down two miles in a level plain and threw up earth entrenchments. This he did because he said he feared to excite the suspicion of the Sepoys and thus incite them to revolt. The result was disastrous, for the earth walls that he raised furnished poor protection and the place was raked by the native artillery and small arms from every point of the compass. A worse place to defend could not have been chosen, but the twenty officers and two hundred men held it against a horde of mutinous natives for twenty days of blazing heat. The only water for the little garrison was obtained under severe fire of the enemy from a well sixty feet deep.

Finally, when the supply of provisions was nearly exhausted, General Wheeler agreed to surrender to the Nana Sahib, provided the men were allowed to carry arms and ammunition and boats were furnished for safe conduct down the river. Of course, the Nana accepted these terms, but it seems incredible that a veteran army officer should have trusted the lives of women and children to Sepoys who were as cruel as our own Apaches. The little garrison, with the wounded, the women and the children, was escorted down to the river and placed on barges. But when the order was given to push off, the treacherous Sepoys grounded the boats in the mud and the gunners of Nana Sahib opened fire on the barges. The grape shot set fire to the matting of the barges and many of the wounded were smothered. One boat escaped down the river, but the survivors were captured after several days of hardship, the men murdered and the women and children brought back to Cawnpore. The men in the other boats who survived were shot, but one hundred and twenty-five women and children were returned to Cawnpore as prisoners. They spent seven anxious days and then when Nana Sahib saw he could not hold Cawnpore any longer he ordered the Sepoys to shoot the English women and children. To the credit of these mutineers they refused to obey orders and fired into the ceiling of the wretched rooms where the prisoners were lodged. Then Nana Sahib sent for five butchers and these men, with their long knives, murdered the helpless victims of this monster of cruelty. On the following morning the bodies of dead and dying were cast into the well at Cawnpore. On the site of this well has been raised a costly memorial surmounted by a marble angel of the resurrection. The design is not impressive, but no one can see it without pity for the unfortunates who were delivered into the hands of the most atrocious character of modern times. The Memorial Church at Cawnpore, which cost one hundred thousand dollars, contains a series of tablets to those who fell in the mutiny.

The Taj Mahal, The World's Loveliest Building

Agra is chiefly noteworthy for the Taj Mahal, which is acknowledged to be the most beautiful building in the world; though the city would be worthy of a visit because of the many splendid mosques and palaces built by the great Mogul emperors and others. In fact, Agra was the capital of the Mohammedan empire in north India until Aurungzeb moved it permanently to Delhi; hence the city is rich in specimens of the best Moslem work in forts, palaces, mosques and tombs.

Agra has about two hundred thousand population. It is on the Jumna river and is almost equally distant from Calcutta and Bombay, eight hundred and forty-two miles from the former and eight hundred and forty-nine miles from the latter. It will impress any traveler by its cleanliness when compared with Calcutta, Benares or Lucknow. The land seems to be more fertile than that around any of these three cities and the standard of living higher. The shops are clean and bright and a specialty is made of gold and silver embroidery and imitation of the old Mohammedan inlay work in marble. Most of the fine Moslem architecture is found inside the ancient fort, which, with its massive wall, is in a good state of preservation.

The Taj Mahal may be seen many times without losing any of its charm. It is reached by a short drive from the city and its beautiful dome and minarets may be seen from many parts of Agra and its suburbs. This tomb, built of white marble, was erected by Shah Jehan, the chief builder among the Mogul Emperors of India, in memory of his favorite wife, Arjmand Banu. She married Shah Jehan in 1615 and died fourteen years after, as she was giving birth to her eighth child. Shah Jehan, who had already built many fine palaces and mosques, determined to perpetuate her memory for all time by erecting the finest tomb in the world. So he planned the Taj, which required twenty-two years and twenty million dollars to build; but so well was the work done that nearly three hundred years have left little trace on its walls or its splendid decorations.

This Mogul despot, who knew many women, spent an imperial fortune in fashioning this noblest memorial to love ever built by the hand of man. Incidentally he probably sacrificed twenty thousand coolies, for he built the Taj by forced labor, the same kind that reared the pyramids and carved the sphinx. All the material was brought from great distances. The white marble came from Jeypore and was hauled in bullock carts or carried by elephants; the jasper came from the Punjab, the jade from China and the precious stones from many parts of Central Asia, from Thibet to Arabia.

The Emperor summoned the best architects and workers in precious stones of his time and asked them for designs. It is evident that many hands united in the plans of the building, but history gives the credit for the main design to a Persian. An Italian architect lent aid in the ornamentation and three inlaid flowers are shown to-day as specimens of his work. The building itself is only a shadow of its former magnificence—for the many alien conquerors of India have despoiled in it in succession, taking away the solid silver gates, the diamonds, rubies, sapphires and other precious stones from the flower decorations, and even the gold and silver from the mosaic work. All the precious stones looted by vandal hands have been restored by imitations, which closely resemble the priceless originals. Restorations have also been made where the marble has been defaced or broken.

The Taj stands in the midst of a great garden, laid out with so much skill that from any part of its many beautiful walks fine views may be had of the dome and the minarets. This garden is planted to many tropical trees and flowering shrubs whose foliage brings out in high relief the beauty of the flawless marble tomb. The main gateway of the garden, built of red sandstone, would be regarded as a splendid work of art were it not for the superior beauty of the tomb itself. The gate is inlaid in white marble with inscriptions from the Koran, and it is surmounted by twenty little marble cupolas.

Once inside the gate the beauty and the majesty of the Taj strike one like a physical blow. Simple as is the design, so perfectly has it been wrought out that the building gives the impression of the last word in delicate and unique ornamentation. The white marble base on which the building rests is three hundred and thirteen feet square and rises eighteen feet from the ground. The tomb itself is one hundred and eighty-six feet square, with a dome that rises two hundred and twenty feet above the base. At each corner of the base is a graceful minaret of white marble one hundred and thirty-seven feet high. Although no color is used on the exterior, the decoration is so rich as to prevent all monotony.

In every detail the Taj satisfies the eye, with the single exception of the work on the minarets. The squares of marble that cover these minarets are laid in dark-colored mortar which brings out strongly each stone. It would have lent more softness to these minarets had the individual stones not been revealed, an effect that could have been secured by using white mortar. When the shades of evening fall these minarets are far more beautiful than by day, as they are softened by the wiping out of the lines about the stones. Under the strong light of the noonday sun the marble that covers the dome shows various shades ranging from light gray to pearly white, but by the soft evening light all these colors are merged and the dome looks like a huge soap bubble resting light as foam on the body of the tomb.

A front photograph of the Taj gives a good idea of its effect. Standing at the portal of the main entrance one gets the superb effect of the marble pathway that borders the two canals in which the building is mirrored. Midway across this pathway is a broad, raised marble platform, with a central fountain, from which the best view of the building may be secured. The path on each side from this platform to the main stairway is bordered by a row of cypress and back of these are great mango trees at least twenty feet high. These should be removed and smaller trees substituted, as they interfere seriously with a perfect view of the tomb.

From this platform the eye rests on the Taj with a sense of perfect satisfaction that is given by no other building I have ever seen. The very simplicity of the design aids in this effect. It seems well nigh impossible that a mere tomb of white marble should convey so vivid an impression of completeness and majesty, yet at the same time that every detail should suggest lightness and delicacy. The little cupolas below the dome as well as the pinnacles of the minarets add to this effect of airy grace.

When one ascends the steps to the main door he begins to perceive the secret of this effect on the senses. Everything is planned for harmony and proportion. The pointed arch, of which all Moslem architects were enamored, is shown in the main doorway and in the principal windows of the front. This doorway rises almost to the full height of the tomb and on each side are recessed windows, with beautifully pointed tops.

All the angles and spandrels of the building are inlaid with precious stones as well as with texts from the Koran. In the center of the building is an octagonal chamber, twenty-four feet on each side, with various rooms around it devoted to the imperial tombs. A dome, fifty-eight feet in diameter, rises to a height of eighty feet, beneath which, inclosed by a trellis-work screen of white marble, are the tombs of the Favorite of the Palace and of the great Emperor. The Emperor, with a touch of the Oriental despot, has made his tomb a little larger than that of the woman whom he honored in this unique fashion. The delicate tracery in marble, so characteristic of Mogul work of the sixteenth century, is seen here at its best, as well as the inlays of the lotus and other flowers in sapphire, turquoise and other stones. The effect is highly decorative and at the same time chaste and subdued. A feature which impresses every visitor is the remarkable trellis work in marble. A solid slab of marble, about six feet by four and about two inches in thickness, is used as a panel. This is cut out into many designs that remind one of fine old lace. These panels abound in every important room of the Taj.

The Taj has suffered little serious damage from the conquerors who successively despoiled it of its wealth of precious stones. The places of these jewels have been supplied with imitations which are almost as effective as the originals. In a few instances the marble has been chipped or broken, but, through the generosity of Lord Curzon, these blemishes have been removed, and the whole structure exists to-day almost as it did three hundred years ago when Akbar's grandson completed it and found it good.

The Taj should be seen by day and again at nightfall. In the full glare of the brilliant Indian sun the dome and the minarets stand out with extraordinary clearness, yet the lightness and buoyancy of the dome is not injured by the fierce light. Seen at sundown the Taj is at its best. All the lines are softened; the minarets and the perfect dome give an appearance of lightness and grace not of this world; they suggest the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces of the poet's vision. As the afterglow fades, the Taj takes on an air of mystery and aloofness; the perfect lines melt into one another and the whole structure is blurred as though it were seen in a dream. Then one bids adieu to the world's perfect building, thankful that he has been given the opportunity to enjoy the greatest marvel of architecture, which leaves on the mind the same impression left by splendid music or the notes of a great singer. Words are poor to describe things like the Taj, which become our cherished possessions and may be recalled to cheer hours of despondency or grief.

Delhi and Its Ancient Mohammedan Ruins

Delhi, the ancient Mogul capital of India, is an interesting city, not only because of its present-day life but because it contains so many memorials of the Mohammedan conquest of the country. The ancient Moslem emperors were men who did things. Above all else they were builders, who constructed tombs, palaces and mosques that have survived for nearly four hundred years. They builded for all time, rearing massive walls of masonry that the most powerful British guns during the mutiny were unable to batter down. They built their own tombs in such enduring fashion that we may look upon them to-day as they were when these despots completed them. Akbar, Shah Jehan, Humayan and Aurungzeb each erected scores of buildings that have survived the ravages of time and the more destructive work of greedy mercenaries in time of war. In and around Delhi are scores of these tombs in various stages of decay. Those which have been cared for are splendid specimens of the best architecture of the sixteenth century.

Indian brick is the cheapest building material in the world. The Indian brick of to-day looks very much like the cheapest brick used in American cities to fill in the inside of walls; but the brick made in the time of Shah Jehan and Humayan and used by them was a flat tile brick, hard as stone, set in mortar that has resisted the elements for over three hundred years. When the roofs of these Moslem tombs and palaces fell in, then the work of disintegration followed rapidly. The plaster scaled off the front and sides, and the rows on rows of brick were exposed; but it is astonishing that these massive walls have not crumbled to dust in all these years. In most cases the imposing arched doorways of red sandstone have survived. These doorways, beautifully arched, may be seen on both sides of the road leading out of Delhi to the old city, eleven miles distant, which was the capital of the Mogul emperors until Aurungzeb moved it to Delhi. In a radius of fifteen miles from Delhi tombs and palaces that cost hundreds of millions of rupees were built by these Moslem despots and their viceroys. Most of them are now in ruins, but from the top of the Kutab Minar one may count a score of tombs with their domes and cupolas still intact. Into these tombs was poured much of the treasure wrung from the poverty-stricken Hindoo tillers of the soil.

Few sights in this world are more impressive than this birdseye view of the remains of the Mogul emperors who ruled northern India for over three centuries. In one of the poorest and the most densely populated countries of the world these despots reared marvels of architecture which have amazed modern experts. They accomplished these wonders in stone mainly because, with power of life and death, they were able to impress thousands of coolies and force them to rear the walls of their palaces and tombs. Building materials were very cheap, so that most of the treasure expended by these rulers went into the elaborate ornamentation of walls and ceilings with precious stones and carved ivory and marble. No description that I have ever read gives any adequate idea of the number and the massiveness of these remains of bygone imperial splendor, and this magnificence is made more impressive by contrast with the squalid poverty of the common people—the tillers of the soil, the drawers of water, who live in wretched huts, with earthen floors, no windows and no comforts. These dwellings are crowded together in small villages; the family cow or goat occupies a part of the dwelling, a small fire gives warmth only to one standing directly over it, and the smoke pours out the open door or filters through holes in the thatched roof.

As the native lived three hundred years ago so does he live to-day. He uses kerosene instead of the old nut or fish oil, but that is almost the only change. In the cultivation of the soil and in all kinds of manufacture the same methods are in use now as when Akbar wrested North India from its Hindoo rulers. The same crude bullock carts carry produce to Delhi, with wheels that have felloes a foot thick and only four spokes. Many of these wheels have no tires. In some cases camels supply the place of bullocks as beasts of burden, especially in the dry country north of Delhi. The coolie draws water from the wells for irrigation just as his ancestors did three centuries ago. He uses bullocks on an arastra that turns over a big wheel with a chain of buckets. On small farms this work is done by men. All the processes of irrigation are ancient and cumbersome and would not be tolerated for a day in any land where labor is valuable.

Delhi is very rich in memorials of the Mogul conquerors. Near the Lahore gate is the palace, one of the noblest remains of the Mohammedan period. A vaulted arcade leads to the outer court, at one end of which is a splendid band gallery, with a dado of red sandstone, finely carved. On the farther side is the Dwan-i-'Am or Hall of Public Audience, with noble arches and columns, at the back of which, in a raised recess, the emperor sat on his peacock throne, formed of two peacocks, with bodies and wings of solid gold inlaid with rubies, diamonds and emeralds. Over it was a canopy of gold supported by twelve pillars, all richly ornamented. This magnificent work was taken away by Nadir Pasha. The palace contains many other beautiful rooms, among which may be mentioned the royal apartments, with a marble channel in the floor, through which rosewater flowed to the queen's dressing-room and bath.

The most notable mosque in Delhi is the Jama Mashid, built of red sandstone and white marble. It has a noble entrance and a great quadrangle, three hundred and twenty-five feet square, with a fountain in the center. In a pavilion in one corner are relics of Mohammed, shown with great apparent reverence to the skeptical tourist. Near by is the Kalar Masjid or Black Mosque, built in the style of the early Arabian architecture.

Eleven miles from Delhi are many tombs of the Mogul emperors, including the Kutab Minar or great column of red sandstone, with a fine mosque near at hand. Kutab was a viceroy when he began this splendid column, two hundred and thirty-eight feet high, with a base diameter of forty-seven feet three inches. The first three stories are of red sandstone and the two upper stories are faced with white marble. The summit, which is reached by three hundred and seventy-nine steps, gives a superb view of the surrounding country, with its many fine Moslem tombs.

On the way to the Kutab Minar a number of fine Mohammedan tombs are passed, chief of which is the tomb of Emperor Humayan, one of the greatest of the Moslem builders. Of all the buildings that I saw in India this approaches most closely in beauty the incomparable Taj Mahal. Of red sandstone, with white marble in relief, its windows are recessed and the lower doors filled in with stone and marble lattice work of great beauty. The tomb is an octagon and in the central chamber is the great emperor's cenotaph of plain white marble. Not far away are the shrines and tombs of many Mohammedan emperors and saints.

Delhi saw some of the fiercest fighting during the mutiny. The rebellious natives drove the Europeans out of the city, slaughtering those who were unable to escape. Thousands of mutineers also flocked to Delhi from Lucknow, Cawnpore and other places. General Bernard, in command of the English troops that came from Simla, attacked the mutineers on June sixth and gained an important victory, as it gave the British possession of "The Ridge," a lofty outcropping of ancient rock, which was admirably designed for defense and for operations against the city. Troops were posted all along the Ridge and in Hindoo Rao's house, a massive building belonging to a loyal native. This building was the center of many fierce engagements, but it was not until September that enough troops were collected to make it safe to assault Delhi. Brigadier-General John Nicholson had arrived from the Punjab and urged immediate attack on the city. Nicholson was the greatest man the mutiny produced. Tall, magnetic, dominating, he enforced his will upon every one. Even Lord Roberts, who was then a young subaltern and not easily impressed by rank or achievement, records that he never spoke to Nicholson without feeling the man's enormous will power and energy. Finally, on September thirteenth, the British guns having made breaches in the city walls, two forces (one under Nicholson, the other under Colonel Herbert) stormed the place. The Kabul gate was soon taken, but the defense of the Lahore gate proved more stubborn. The soldiers wavered under the deadly fire, when Nicholson rushed forward to lead them. His great height made him a target and he fell, shot through the body. A whole week of severe fighting followed before every portion of Delhi was captured. Nicholson died three days after the British secured complete control of the city. His death was mourned as greatly as the death of Sir Henry Lawrence at Lucknow.

The Kashmir, Kabul and Lahore gates at Delhi are interesting because they were the scenes of many acts of heroism during the mutiny. On the Ridge a massive but ugly stone memorial has been erected to those who fell in the mutiny. The position is fine but the monument, like all the other memorials of the mutiny, is not impressive because of its poor design. Other interesting objects which recall incidents in this great struggle against the Sepoys are suitably inscribed.

Scenes in Bombay When the King Arrived

The ancient city of Bombay, the gateway of India and the largest commercial metropolis of the empire, was in festival garb because of the visit of the King and Queen of England. Fully four hundred thousand people came in from the surrounding country to see their rulers from over the sea and to enjoy the novel spectacle of illuminated buildings, decorative arches, military processions and fireworks. Hence Bombay was seen at its best in its strange mixture of races and costumes. In this respect it is more Oriental and more picturesque than Singapore.

The first thing that impresses a stranger is the number, size and beauty of the public buildings. The Town Hall looks not unlike many American city structures—as it is classic, with Doric pillars and an imposing flight of steps; but nearly all the other buildings are of Indian architecture, with cupolas and domes, recessed windows and massive, pointed gateways. They are built of a dark stone, and the walls (three and four feet in thickness) seem destined to last forever. The rooms are from sixteen to twenty feet in height; above the tall doors and windows are transoms; the floors are of mosaic or stone; everything about the buildings appears designed to endure. The streets are very wide and the sidewalks are arranged under colonnades in front of the buildings, so that one may walk an entire block without coming out into the fierce Indian sunshine.

All the main streets converge into the Apollo Bunder, a splendid driveway like the Maidan in Calcutta. It sweeps around the sea wall and if any breeze is stirring in Bombay one may get it here at nightfall. From six o'clock to eight thirty or nine o'clock all Bombay turns out for a drive on the Apollo Bunder. The line of fine carriages and motor cars is continuous for miles, going out the Esplanade to Queen's road, which runs for five miles to Malabar head, the favorite residence place of the wealthy foreign colony. What will astonish any one accustomed to Calcutta and other East Indian cities is the large representation of Parsee families in this evening dress parade. Two-thirds of the finest equipages belong to the Parsees, who are very richly dressed in silks and adorned with fortunes in diamonds, rubies and other precious stones. Here and there may be distinguished rich Hindoos or Mohammedans out for an airing. The women of the latter sect are concealed behind the carriage covers, but the Hindoo and Parsee women show their faces, their jewelry and their beautiful costumes with evident pleasure. Nearly all these women wear fortunes in diamonds in their ears or in bracelets on their arms. In no dress parade in any other city have I noted so many large diamonds, rubies and emeralds as in this procession of carriages in Bombay.

Another thing that impresses the stranger in Bombay is the sympathy and the good feeling that seems to exist between the leading Europeans of the city and the prominent natives. This is in great contrast to the exclusiveness that marks the Briton in other East Indian cities. Here the President and a majority of the members of the Municipal Council are Parsees; while a number of Hindoos and Mohammedans are represented. When the King and Queen of England were received, the address of welcome was read by the Parsee President of the Council, while a bouquet was presented to the Queen by the President's wife, dressed in her graceful sari or robe of ecru silk, edged with a black border, heavy with ornamental gold work. This mingling of the races in civic life is due to the domination of the Parsee element, which came over to Bombay from Persia three hundred years ago, when driven from their old homes by Moslem intolerance. Here these people, who strongly resemble the Jews in their fondness for trade and their skill in finance, have amassed imperial fortunes. The richest of these Parsee bankers and merchants, Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, left much of his great fortune to charity. He founded a university, schools and hospitals and his name figures on a dozen fine buildings. Other prominent Parsee families are the Sassoons and Jehangirs. Yet, despite their wealth and their association with Europeans, the Parsees have kept themselves unspotted from the world. They do not recognize any mingling of their blood with the foreigner. A Parsee who marries a European woman must accept virtual expatriation, while the wife (although she may bear him children) is never allowed any of the privileges of a native woman in this life and when she dies her body cannot be consigned to the Parsee burial place. She is always an alien and nothing that she can do is able to break down this racial wall that separates her from her husband's people. The marriage of Parsee women to foreigners is practically unknown. The Parsee wears a distinctive costume. The men dress in white linen or pongee trousers, with coat of dark woolen or alpaca; they like foreign shirts and collars, but their headgear is the same as that used by the refugees from Persia over three hundred years ago. One cap is of lacquered papier-mache in the form of a cow's hoof inverted. Another is a round cap of gray cloth, finely made, worn over a skull cap of velvet or embroidered cloth, which is worn indoors. The women wear the sari or robe, which consists of one piece of silk or brocade, with an embroidered band. This garment is draped around the body and brought up over the head, covering the right ear. They all wear shoes and stockings.

The Parsees are all well educated and most of them possess unusual refinement. So strong is the pride of race among them that they do not tolerate any mendicancy among their own people. Their charitable associations care for the few Parsees who are unable to make a living, so that their paupers never make any claim upon the municipal government for aid. They also boast that none of their women may be found among the denizens of the red-light district. Most of the educated Parsees speak English, French and German, besides Gugerati (the native dialect) and most of them read and write English, Gugerati and Urdu, which is the written form of Hindustani. Yet the Parsees are genuine Orientals. They sit on chairs, but most of their houses are scantily furnished. They are remarkably fond of sweets, fruits and nuts. They seem insensible to the surroundings of their homes, many living in crowded streets and up many flights of stairs. In their homes all their treasures are kept in the family safe. If you are fortunate enough to be received in one of these Parsee homes you will be amazed at the wealth in jewelry and personal ornaments which are possessed even by families of modest fortune. A Parsee woman of this class will have invested five thousand dollars in jewelry, much of which she will wear on festive occasions.

Many of the big shipping and cotton merchants of Bombay are Parsees and they also control much of the banking of the city. It was due largely to the liberality of the Parsees that the city of Bombay was able to present to the King a memorial in gold and silver that cost seventeen thousand rupees, or over five thousand five hundred dollars in American money. This reception to the King and Queen when they landed at Bombay on their way to Delhi Durbar was very typical of the life of the city. Remarkable preparations had been made; a series of arches spanned the principal streets, all designed in native style. At the end of the Apollo Bunder was erected a pretty, white pavilion that looked like a miniature Taj, while a splendid avenue, lined with pillars, led up to the great amphitheater, in front of which, under an ornate pavilion, were the golden thrones of the King and Queen. This amphitheater was reserved for all the European and native notables, as well as the Maharajahs and chiefs from the neighboring States.

After the reception to the royal party came a parade through the principal streets and when this was concluded all restrictions were relaxed and the populace and the visitors from surrounding towns gave themselves up to an evening of enjoyment. The buildings were illuminated, some with white and others with red electric lights, while many large structures were lighted by little oil lamps, in a cup or glass. The main streets were filled with long lines of carriages, crowded with richly dressed natives and Europeans, although the natives outnumbered the foreigners by one hundred to one. Never in my life have I seen so many valuable jewels as on this night, when I roamed about the streets for two hours, enjoying this Oriental holiday. At times I would stop and sit on one of the stands and watch the crowd flow by in a steady stream. Walking by the side of a Parsee millionaire and his richly dressed family would pass a Hindoo woman of low caste, one of the street sweepers, in dirty rags, but loaded down on ankles and arms by heavy silver bangles and painted in the center of the forehead with her caste mark. She was followed by a poverty-stricken Mohammedan leading a little boy, stark naked, while a girl with brilliant cap held the boy's hand. A naked Tamil, with only a dirty loin cloth, brushed elbows with three Parsee girls, beautifully dressed. And so this purely democratic human tide flowed on for hours, rich and poor showing a childlike pleasure in the street decorations and the variegated crowd. And in the midst of all this turmoil native parties from out of town squatted on the deserted tiers of seats, ate their suppers with relish and then calmly composed themselves to sleep, wrapped in their robes, as though they were in the privacy of their own homes. It was a spectacle such as could be seen only in an Oriental city with a people who live in public with the placid unconsciousness of animals.

Religion and Customs of the Bombay Parsees

The Parsees of Bombay—a mere handful of exiles among millions of aliens—have so exerted their power as to change the life of a great city. Proscribed and persecuted, they have developed so powerfully their aptitude for commercial life that they represent the wealth of Bombay. Living up to the tenets of their creed, they have given far more liberally to charity and education than any other race. Some idea of the respect in which the Parsee is held may be gained from the fact that customs officers never search the baggage of one of these people; they take the Parsee's word that he has no dutiable goods. The commercial success and the high level of private life among the Parsees is due directly to their religion, which was founded by Zoroaster in ancient Persia three thousand years ago. As Max-Muller has well said, if Darius had overthrown Alexander of Greece, the modern world would probably have inherited the faith of Zoroaster, which does not differ in most of its essentials from the creed of Christ.

The popular idea of a Parsee is that he worships the sun. This is a misconception, due probably to the fact that the Parsee when saying his prayers always faces the sun or, in default of this, prays before a sacred fire in his temples; but he does not worship the sun, nor any gods or idols. His temples are bare, only the sacred fire of sandalwood burning in one corner. The Parsee recognizes an overruling god, Ahura-Mazda, the creator of the universe; he believes that Nature with its remarkable laws could not have come into being without a great first cause. But he believes that the universe created by Ahura-Mazda was invaded by a spirit of evil, Angra-Mainyush, which invites men to wicked deeds, falsehood and ignorance. Over against this evil spirit is the good spirit, Spenta-Mainyush, which represents God and stands for truth, goodness and knowledge. The incarnation of the evil spirit is known as Aherman, who corresponds to the Christian devil.

The whole Parsee creed is summed up in three words, which correspond to good thoughts, good words and good deeds. If one carries out in his life this creed, then his good thoughts, good words and good deeds will be his intercessors on the great bridge that leads the spirit from death to the gates of paradise. If his evil deeds and thoughts and words overbalance the good, then he goes straight down to the place of darkness and torment. If his good and evil deeds and thoughts exactly balance, then he passes into a kind of purgatory.

Fire, water and earth are all sacred to the Parsee; but fire represents the principle of creation and hence is most sacred. To him fire is the most perfect symbol of deity because of its purity, brightness and incorruptibility. The sacred fire that burns constantly in the Parsee temples is fed with chips of sandalwood. Prayer with the Parsee is obligatory, but it need not be said in the fire temple; the Parsee may pray to the sun or moon, the mountains or the sea. His prayer is first repentance for any evil thoughts or deeds and then for strength to lead a life of righteousness, charity and good deeds.

The most remarkable result of the Parsee religion is seen in the education of children. This is made a religious duty, and neglect of it entails terrible penalties—for the parents are responsible for the offenses of the badly-educated child, just as they share in the merit for good deeds performed by their children. It is the duty of a good Parsee not only to educate his own children but to do all in his power to help in general education. Hence the large benefactions that rich Parsees have made to found institutions for the education of the poor. Disobedience of children is one of the worst sins. The Parsees are also taught to observe sanitary laws, to bathe frequently, to take all measures to prevent the spread of contagion. Cleanliness is one of the chief virtues. To keep the earth pure the Parsee is enjoined to cultivate it. He is also admonished to drink sparingly of wine and not to sell it to any one who uses liquor to excess.

The Parsee creed urges the believer to help the community in which he lives and to give freely to charity. Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, the richest Parsee Bombay has known, set aside a fund of four million seven hundred and forty-three thousand rupees for charity and benevolence among all the people of his city, regardless of race or creed. The Parsee gives liberally to charity on the occasion of weddings or of deaths. The charity includes relieving the poor, helping a man to marry and aiding poor children to secure an education. The influence of the Parsee religion upon the literature and life of the people is very marked. There is no room for atheism, agnosticism or materialism. Faith in the existence of God and in the immortality of the soul is the corner-stone of the creed, but the Parsee spends no money and no effort in proselyting others.

Marriage is encouraged by the Parsee religion, because it encourages a virtuous and religious life. The marriage ceremony is peculiar. It is always performed in a large pavilion, whatever the wealth of the couple. In the case of the rich many invitations are issued and a fine wedding feast is spread. On the day set for the wedding, the bride and groom and the invited guests assemble in the pavilion. The bride as well as the groom is dressed in white. When the time comes for the ceremony the couple sit in chairs facing each other and a sheet is held up between them by friends, so that they cannot see each other. Then two priests begin intoning the marriage service. After several prayers a cord is wound around the two chairs seven times and the chairs are also bound together with a strip of cloth. More prayers and exhortations follow, both priests showering rice upon the couple. Finally the sheet is withdrawn, they and their chairs are placed side by side, each is given a cocoanut to hold that is bound to the other by a string, emblematic of the plenty that may bless the new home, and they are declared man and wife. Then they sign a document certifying that they have been united according to the Parsee ritual and witnesses sign their names.

Far stranger than the wedding customs of the Parsees are their burial rites. They believe that neither fire, earth nor water must be polluted by contact with a dead body, so neither burial nor cremation is permitted. Instead, they expose their dead to vultures which strip the flesh from the bones within an hour. This occurs in conical places, called towers of silence, which are shut off from human gaze. The Bombay towers of silence are on Malabar head, a beautiful residence district overlooking the city. Here, in a fine garden planted to many varieties of trees and shrubs, are five circular towers, each about twenty feet high, made of brick, covered with plaster.

While you are admiring the flowers and trees a funeral enters the gates. The body is carried by four professional bearers and is followed by two priests and the relatives and friends. All the mourners are clothed in white. They walk two by two, no matter how distant may be the house of death, each couple holding a handkerchief as a symbol of their union in sorrow. When the procession reaches the top of the hill the mourners diverge and take seats in the house of prayer, where the sacred fire is burning, or they seat themselves in the beautiful garden for meditation and prayer. The priests deliver the body to the two corpse bearers, who throw open the great iron door and enter with the body. The floor of the tower is of iron grating, arranged in three circles—the outer for men, the next for women and the inner for children. As the bearers lay the body down, they strip off the shroud. Then the iron door closes with a clang. This is the signal for a score of vultures to swoop down upon the body. No human eye can see this spectacle, but the imagination of the visitor pictures it in all its horror. Within a few minutes the gorged vultures begin flapping their way to the top of the tower, where they roost on the outer rim.

The bones of the corpse are allowed to remain for several days exposed to the fierce sun. Then they are thrown into a great central well, where the climate soon converts them into dust. This is washed by the rains into underground wells. Charcoal in these wells serves to filter the rain water before it enters the ground. Thus do the Parsees preserve even the earth from contamination by the ashes of the dead. No expense is spared by the Parsees in the construction of these towers of silence, which are always placed on the tops of hills. According to the testimony of some of the ablest medical men of England and America, who have examined these burial grounds, the Parsee method of disposing of the dead is the most sanitary that has ever been devised. It avoids even the fumes that are given off in cremation of the dead. It is also cheap and absolutely democratic, as the bones of the rich and poor mingle at last in the well of the tower of silence.

There is nothing offensive to European taste in the towers of silence except the vultures. These disgusting birds, like the Indian crow, are protected because they are admirable scavengers. The Parsees see nothing offensive in exposing their dead to these birds nor apparently does it shock them that alien hands should bare the bodies of their beloved dead; but to a foreigner both these aspects of Parsee burial are repellant and no argument has any weight to counteract this sentiment.

Many sensational accounts of these Parsee burial rites have been printed. Nearly every writer lays stress on the fact that pieces of the dead bodies are dropped by the vultures within the grounds or in the streets outside. This is an absurdity, as the vulture never rises on the wing with any carrion—he eats it on the spot and he will not leave until he is gorged to repletion. An effort was made several years ago to remove these towers of silence on Malabar hill because of complaints that fragments of corpses were found in the neighborhood. When two competent medical experts investigated the matter they reported that there was no foundation for the complaints. So the towers have remained and thousands of Parsees have been borne to them for the last rites of their creed.

EGYPT, THE HOME
OF HIEROGLYPHS, TOMBS
AND MUMMIES

Picturesque Oriental Life as Seen in Cairo

The first impression of Cairo is bewildering. None of the Oriental cities east of Port Said is at all like it in appearance or in street life. The color, the life, the picturesqueness, the noises, all these are distinctive. Kyoto, Manila, Hongkong, Singapore, Rangoon, Calcutta, Bombay and Colombo—each has marked traits that differentiate it from all other cities, but several have marked likenesses. Cairo differs from all these in having no traits in common with any of them. It stands alone as the most kaleidoscopic of cities, the most bizarre in its mingling of the Orient and the Occident.

Ismail Pasha, who loved to ape the customs of the foreigner, made a deliberate attempt to convert Cairo into a second Paris, by cutting great avenues through the narrow, squalid streets of the old city, but Ismail simply transformed a certain quarter of the place and spoiled its native character. What he could not do, fortunately, was to rob the Egyptian of his picturesqueness or make the chief city of Egypt other than a great collection of Oriental bazars and outdoor coffee shops, as full of the spirit of the East as the camel or the Bedouin of the desert.

The ride from Port Said to Cairo on the train, which consumes four hours, is interesting mainly as a revelation of what the Nile means to these people, who without its life-giving water would be unable to grow enough to live on. With abundant irrigation this Nile delta is one of the garden spots of the earth.

The villages that we pass remind one somewhat of old Indian villages on the fringe of the desert in California and Arizona—the same walls of sun-baked adobe; the roofs of any refuse from tree pruning; the goats and chickens on terms of intimacy with the single living-room. But the people are not of the Western world. Dressed in voluminous black or blue cotton robes, which are pulled up over their heads to protect them from the keen wind of winter, they belong to the land as absolutely as the tawny, dust-colored camel. The dress of the women appears to differ very little from that of the men, but always the women gather a loose fold of their dress and bring it over the head, thus partially concealing the face. Men, women and children, all in bare feet, squat in the sand or sit hunched up against the sunny side of their houses. Beyond any other Orientals I have seen, these Egyptians have the capacity for unlimited loafing under circumstances that would drive an American insane in a few hours. Flies swarm over them; passing donkeys or camels powder them with dust; the fierce sun beats down on their heads; but all these things they accept philosophically as an inevitable part of life, as something decreed by fate which it would be useless and senseless to change.

The first walk down the Street of the Camel in Cairo is one not soon forgotten. Before you are clear of the hotel steps an Arab in a sweater and loose skirt, something like the Malay sarong, rushes up and shouts: "The latest New York Herald; just came this morning!" Although you tell him "no" and shake your head, he follows you for half a block. Meanwhile you are badgered by dealers in scarabs, beads, stamps, postal cards, silver shawls and various curios, who dog your heels, and, when you finally lose your temper, retaliate by shouting: "Yankee!" through their noses. These street peddlers are wonderfully keen judges of nationality and they manage to make life a burden to the American tourist by their unwearied and smiling persistence. This is due in great part to the foolish liberality of American travelers, who are inclined to accept the first price offered, although with an Egyptian or an Arab this is usually twice or three times what he finally agrees to take.

Custom and habit probably blunt one's sensibilities in time, but this constant annoyance by peddlers detracts much from the pleasure of any stroll through Cairo streets. To the new arrival everything is novel and attractive. The main avenues are wide, well paved and lined with spacious sidewalks, but here the European touch ends. After passing some fine shops, their windows filled with costly goods from all parts of Egypt and the Soudan, one comes upon one of the great cafes that form a distinctive feature of Cairo street life. Here the sidewalk is half filled with small tables, about which are grouped Egyptians and foreigners drinking the sweet Turkish coffee that is served here at all hours of the day.

Many of these Egyptians are in European dress, their swarthy faces and the red fez alone showing their nationality. The young men are remarkably handsome, with fine, regular features, large, brilliant black eyes and straight, heavy eyebrows that frequently meet over the nose. Their faces beam with good nature and they evidently regard the frequent enjoyment of coffee and cigarettes as among the real pleasures of life. But the older men all show traces of this life of ease and self-indulgence. It is seldom that one sees a man beyond fifty with a strong face. The Egyptian over forty loses his fine figure, he lays on abundant flesh, his jowl is heavy and his whole face suggests satiety and the loss of that pleasure in mere existence that makes the youth so attractive.

Walking down this main artery of Cairo life one sees on the left a large park surrounded by a high iron fence. This is the Esbekiyeh Gardens, which cover twenty acres, and are planted to many choice trees and shrubs. They contain cafes, a restaurant and a theater, and on several evenings in the week military and Egyptian bands alternate in playing foreign music. Beyond the gardens is an imposing opera house, with a small square in front, ornamented with an impressive equestrian statue of old Ibrahim Pasha, one of the few good fighters that Egypt has produced. From the opera house radiate many streets, some leading to the new Europeanized quarters, with noble residences and great apartment houses; others taking one directly to the bazars and narrow streets that give a good idea of Cairo as it existed before the foreigner came to change its life.

Although the modern tram car clangs its way through these native streets, it is about the only foreign touch that can be seen. Everything else is distinctively Oriental. It is difficult to give any adequate idea of the narrowness of these streets or of the amount of life that is crowded into them. As in many cities of India, all the work of the shops goes on in plain view from the street. The shops themselves are mere cubicles, from eight to ten feet wide and seldom more than from six to eight feet deep. In certain streets the makers of shoes and slippers are massed in solid rows; then come the workers in brass and metals; then the jewelers, and following these may be dealers in shawls and in curios of various kinds. The native shopkeeper sits cross-legged amid his stock and, although he shows great keenness in getting you to examine his wares, he never reveals any haste in closing a bargain.

Shopping in this native quarter and in the great Muski bazar that adjoins it is a constant source of amusement to the foreign woman who has a fondness for bargaining. These Arabs and Egyptians never expect one to give more than half what is demanded, except in the case of a few large shops in which the price is marked. If one of the silver shawls made at Assiut attracts a lady's attention and the polite shopkeeper demands five pounds sterling, she may safely offer him two pounds, and then, after haggling for a half hour, she will probably become the possessor of the shawl for two pounds ten shillings. Of one thing the traveler may be sure: he will never get any article from an Egyptian on which the shopkeeper cannot make a small profit.

The Muski bazar is about a mile long and, although many European shops line it, the street still retains its Oriental attractiveness. Branching off from it are many narrow streets crowded with shops on both sides. Here may be seen the real life of Old Cairo, unhampered by any foreign innovations. The street is not more than twelve feet wide and above the first floor of the houses projecting latticed windows and open balconies reduce this width to three or four feet. Looking up one sees only a narrow slit of blue sky, against which are outlined several tiers of latticed windows. From these the harem women look down upon the street life in which they can have no real part. Peeping over the balconies may be seen black eyes that gleam above the yashmak or Oriental veil worn by the poorer classes. This veil covers the face almost to the eyes and it is held in place by a curious bit of bamboo that comes down over the forehead to the nose. The women of the better class do not wear this ugly yashmak, but content themselves with a white silk veil that is stretched across the lower part of the face, leaving the eyes and a part of the nose uncovered.

No visit to Cairo is complete without a sight of Old Cairo, with its bazars. This is a quarter of the city that remains as it was in the days of the Caliphs. It is inhabited mainly by Copts and among the mean houses, built of sun-dried bricks, may be traced part of the old Roman wall that encircled this suburb, then known as Babylon. The houses are mainly of two or three stories, but the streets are so narrow that two people on opposite sides may easily join hands by leaning out of their windows. Many or the antique doors of oak, studded with great wrought-iron nails, still remain. Here is the old church of St. Sergius, which is said to antedate the Moslem conquest. In the ancient crypt the Virgin Mary and the Child are said to have sought shelter after their flight into Egypt.

Near by is the island of Roda, which is noteworthy for the legend that here the infant Moses was found by Pharaoh's daughter. The visitor crosses a narrow arm of the Nile by a crude ferry and then walks through a quaint old garden to a wall that overlooks the Nile and the Pyramids. This wall marks the spot, according to local tradition, where Moses was taken from the bulrushes. The bulrushes are no more because they have been dredged out, but the place has the look of extreme age and the garden contains many curious trees.