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JOHN L. STODDARD’S LECTURES
INDIA I INDIA II
THE PASSION PLAY
Norwood Press
7. S. Cusbing £9’ C0.—Ber‘wick 59’ Smith
Nor'wood, Mam, UHSJYC
Macdanald 59’ Sons, Bookbinders, Boston
JOHNL. STODDARD’S
LECTURES
ILLUSTRATED AND EMBELLISHED WITH VIEWS OF THE
I WORLD’S FAMOUS PLACES AND PEOPLE, BEING
THE IDENTICAL DISCOURSES DELIVERED
DURING THE PAST EIGHTEEN
YEARS UNDER THE TITLE
OF THE STODDARD
LECTURES
COJUPLETE [N TEN VOLUMES
VOL. IV



BOSTON
BALCH BROTHERS CO.
MCMIV
COPYRIGHT, 1897
BY JOHN L. STODDARD
ENTERED AT STATIoNERs’ HALL, Louoon
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INDIA
196779 '


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LECTURE I
NDIA is unique. It differs from all other lands in situa-
tion, climate, history, and religion. Its form is that of
a gigantic triangle, one thousand nine hundred miles in
length, and in its broadest part as wide as from the Atlantic
to the Mississippi. Yet this
enormous section of our earth
is a peninsula. If we com-
pare the continent of Asia to
a ship, the sharp- pointed
wedge of India is its prow,
cleaving the Indian Ocean
almost to the equator and
rolling one great mass of
water eastward to be silvered
by the dawn, and a still larger
volume westward to be gilded
by the setting sun. The
northern side of this vast tri-

angle is rightly called “The
Roof of the \Vorld." It is A" mm“ mm“
a vast mountain range so high that if the Pyrenees were
piled upon the Alps, it would still tower above them both
by four thousand feet. Yet just below these citadels of
8 INDIA
snow, upon the Indian plains, the heat at times exceeds
that of almost any other place on earth. In parts of India,
for example, during the prevalence of the hot winds, the
mercury rises to 120° in the shade, and certain forms of
vegetation wither and turn black, as from the effects of fire.
At such times, in the homes of Europeans, all doors and
windows facing windward are covered with thick mats, which
are kept wet by buckets of water thrown on them day and

THE BEACH AT COLOMBO.
night by native servants. The wind, which is like a blast
from a furnace, becomes thus somewhat more endurable by
passing through the moistened matting. But under any
circumstances foreigners in India suffer greatly during the
summer months, unless they can escape to the mountains.
In summer the railway authorities actually keep coffins ready
at the principal stations to receive the bodies of travelers who
may have succumbed to the heat, victims of a climate suited
to another race. India is, therefore, a land of startling con-
INDIA 9
trasts. While prostrated by the heat upon the plains, one may
be gazing on eternal snow. It is a kind of meeting, in one
land, of the North Pole and the Equator.
But India's history is as wonderful as her geography. She
is degraded now, but nothing can efface the memory of her
splendid past. She is the cradle of the two most wide-
spread religions of humanity, Hinduism and Buddhism—the
first of which can boast of thirty centuries of existence, while
even the second was ten centuries old be-


fore Great Britain had emerged
ism. Much of
tion of China
from barbar-
the civiliza-
and Japan originated
here. The language
of the ear- ly Hin—
dus was , the San-
skrit, which scholars
like Max - Miiller call
themostartis- _> tie in the
true, it ceased
world. It is
to be spoken three
before the birth of
thoughts had mean-
2/ hundred years
Christ, but its best
STEAMER AND memo“. time crystallized
into a magnificent literature whose epic poems are the Bi-
ble of the Orient.
Like Italy, however, India had the “fatal gift of beauty."
For ages men have looked on her with longing eyes. From
Alexander the Great to the Great Moguls, and even to Great
Britain, this land of wealth has been the object of the world's
cupidity. At first it was too distant to be easily reached,
save by some Asiatic conqueror; but by a singular coincidence
both India and America were discovered at practically the
same time. For, only six years after Columbus landed on
San Salvador, Vasco da Gama found the passage around the
IO INDIA
southern point of Africa, and while America lured adventurous
mariners to her distant shores, in India European conquerors
swung open to the commerce of the world the jeweled portals
of the Orient. It is, then, this historic land, which wears
the radiant Himalayas for a diadem and claims the Sanskrit-
speaking heroes for her earlier inhabitants, that is the theme
of this lecture.
It was late in the afternoon when, on our voyage from
China across the Indian Ocean, we approached Ceylon.
1 The pilot, who


climbed from
his little boat to
the deck of our
huge steamer,
was the first hu-
man being we
had met since
leaving Singa-
pore. All was
excitement. An
irresistible de-
sire prevailed
“ ONLY MAN :5 vita.” among the pas_
sengers to quote Bishop Heber's familiar lines—
" What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon’s isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile."
Two different groups were singing this at once; and every
other person whom I met would say to me, “Well, I sup-
pose that to-morrow we shall be where ‘every prospect
pleases.’ " One solemn spinster gravely remarked that, for
her part, she expected to find the Ceylon men no worse than
those of other lands. At last the following notice was posted
INDIA II
in the companion-way: “All allusions to spicy breezes and
the depravity of man are strictly prohibited."
Some hours later our steamer reached Colombo, the cap-
ital of Ceylon, and anchored in the bay. \Ve were asleep.
A sudden flash from the lighthouse on the granite breakwater,
coming through the stateroom window, fell directly on my
face. I started up as if it were a conflagration.
“What is it?" I cried out to my companion.
“Do n’t be alarmed,” he answered; “it is the Light of
Asia! ”
As every traveler knows, when one arrives in port at night,
sleep is no longer possible. Accordingly, at sunrise the next
morning I was already on deck, eager to disembark.
Although anxious to explore Ceylon, I was sorry to leave,
the steamer. The voyage from China hither had been the
pleasantest I had ever known. During that time, as we
subsequently learned, terrific storms had raged upon the
North Atlantic, but the Indian Ocean had been as smooth as
glass. Day after day, and evening after evening, we sat
beneath awnings on the spacious deck reading and writing, or
walking and conversing, or watching for new constellations
in the southern sky. Though lightly clad we felt no chill.
w
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THE HARBOR OF COLOMBO.


12 INDIA
The mercury never fell below 79°. The soft caress of the
breeze was perfectly delightful. It was one of those rare
experiences in a life of travel which
have almost made me love the sea.
Even before daybreak our steamer
was surrounded by a multitude of little
boats, tenanted by naked boys who
sought to show their skill in diving.
From time to time we threw into the
water small silver coins, and laughed to
see the urchins dive in hot pursuit,
twenty or thirty vanishing together in
one tremendous splash. It seemed im-
DWBRS- possible that so small an object could
be found in such a crowd, but not one silver piece was ever
lost or even reached the bottom of the sea. The lucky boy
would hold it up in triumph as he climbed into his canoe.


ON THE INDIAN OCEAN.
But presently other boats arrived to take us to the land.
They were the strangest looking craft I ever saw; for though
about twenty feet in length and narrow as a Wherry, they
INDIA 13
rose at least two feet above the water. The bottom of each
was merely the hollowed trunk of a tree, to which long planks
were fastened to form the sides. They would capsize upon
the slightest provocation, were it not for an outrigger of bam-
boo poles arching out to a log about eight feet away, which
even in the roughest water will keep the slender boats from
upsetting. In this respect they certainly are most ingenious,


CEYLON BOATS.
but the confusion and collisions occasioned by these outrig-
gers in a crowd can easily be imagined.
In one such boat, however, we risked our lives, and ten
minutes later stepped upon the soil of Colombo. A few feet
from the landing-pier stands the Grand Oriental Hotel. I
recollect this now as an enormous gridiron, upon which I was
broiled for several days. I have, however, no fault to find
with it. The trouble was—not with the gridiron, but with
the sun. A brief exposure to the solar rays, even when pro-
tected by a white umbrella, produced a curious feeling in my
head and spine. This was the warmest place we found in all
our travels, though residents assured us that the really hot
I4
INDIA


THE GRAND ORIENTAL HOTEL.
fans, which are essential to the comfort of Europeans in
India, are called pun/tails, and the relays of perspiring coolies
who pull them back and forth, day and night, bear the
euphonious name of pzmka/z walla/ls, the pay of each of them
being sixpence a day. Every one in Colombo seemed to be
dressed in white, except the natives. They wore extremely
little except black—in
suits that never could be
changed.
Dressed in our light-
est clothes we presently
started out to see Colombo.
A singular means of trans-
portation stood at the
hotel steps. It was a
springless, two - wheeled
cart, drawn by a bullock.
Yet this was a regularly
licensed vehicle of the
town, with lamps which
must be lighted when the
sun goes down, like those

weather had not
yet set in. But
even in Decem-
ber, in the din-
ing - room, gi-
gantic wooden
fans, covered
with muslin and
hanging from
the ceiling, were
in constant mo-
tion. These
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MY “ smcv" DRIVE.


. o
a i H n .00 a 0
a ".0 I. I O l f
U. . .. . ' .
O. Q. a 0
656.50 .53 @2524

INDIA 17
of our city cabs. The driver was a Hindu, whose only dress
consisted of a handkerchief about his waist and a table-cloth
around his head. I shall never forget that ride, for the
bullock-cart was so extremely short that, when once in it,
I found myself only two feet away from the bullock and
six-and-a-half inches from the man. Accordingly, I had
an admirable opportunity to study the persuasive powers
of the driver, whose only modes of making the poor beast

AMONG THE PALMS-
advance were those of uttering incessant cries resembling the
creaking of a rusty hinge, and of continually twisting its tail,
long since grown hairless under his manipulations. I soon
discovered also that, after the fashion of the country, the
Hindu had besmeared himself from head to foot with cocoa-
nut-oil to make his skin insensible to draughts. Hence, as
one of the breezes of Ceylon was blowing at the time, that
was the “spiciest" drive I ever took.
Aside, however, from the drawbacks I have mentioned, it
was a charming expedition. Only a few minutes after leav-
ing the hotel, we entered a forest of stately palm-trees. This
18 INDIA
was indeed the Ceylon I had read of. For seven miles we
rode through a vast park of tropical vegetation. Thousands
of cocoanut-palms waved above us their drooping foliage and
clusters of their bulbous fruit gleamed through the leaves like
balls of gold. Ten such trees sometimes form a native's
wedding-present to his daughter, though few are able to fur-
nish such a handsome dowry.
Before visiting India I had never realized how valuable
palm-trees are to the
people, and in how many
ways they can be util-
ize'd. Thus from their
bark the natives manu-
facture ropes and mat-
ting; from the leaves are
made baskets, hats, and
palm-leaf fans; while the
fibre of the nut furnishes,
rough clothing, sails, and
fishing-nets. The sap
yields sugar, the green
fruit milk, the ripe fruit
solid food; while from

NATIVE HOUSES.
the kernel they obtain rich cocoanut-oil for their lamps and
hair. Surely, of all the gifts that Mother Earth bestows
upon her children few are so well appreciated as the palm.
We found that the native houses were built of sun-dried
mud, solidified with bamboo plaiting, and had neither win-
dows nor chimneys. All were exceedingly primitive and, I
regret to add, not very clean. 0 Japan! Japan! As we
travel through other Oriental lands, how we appreciate thy
neatness! Some of the younger inmates of these structures
i‘ wear the costume of Eden;'but the adults are, considering
the climate, tolerably clothed; yet if it ever comes to a choice
INDIA 19
between a garment and a piece of jewelry, the Hindu always
takes the gem. A child, if its parents can afford it, will be
adorned with bangles, anklets, and medallions before it gets
a shirt or a petticoat. And, if this is the case among the
poverty-stricken natives, it is easy to imagine to what an
extent ornamentation is carried among those who can afford
to gratify their love of it. A young girl of a wealthy
family looks like a walking advertisement for a jewelry shop.
Aside from the display A :ggmk of beads in her hair,
A,‘ , r 7 ' £ ' i‘ '
herneck and breast 5"‘.
$4‘ .
are almost covered




. '\,‘k x :g
with medal-
f




lions, neck-
pe n d a n ts
A!’
laces, and
made of brass or sil-
ver;while her ears
are pierc- ed, not
onlyin the lobe but
through the tops
and sides. The ears
of some are 7
pletely out of a
weight of these or- \‘ ~


drawn com—
shape by the
naments. Usually,
also, there is inserted in one nostril a flat
A CEYLON FAMILY.
gem like a star of tur- quoises, and in the
other a gold ring; while from the cartilage above the lip, and
sometimes from the lip itself, is hung a hoop of silver. Under
these circumstances it is perhaps fortunate that in the Orient
the art of kissing is unknown.
To appreciate the full extent of an Indian woman’s decora-
tions, one must behold her foot; for her toes are quite as
richly ornamented as her fingers, while around her ankles
are bangles of such weight as to be burdensome in walking.
Yet, so clearly do Hindu women love their ornaments that
they will hardly take them off at night, preferring to go about
their household work clanking with bracelets and ablaze with
20
INDIA
gems.
Indian widows, however, are prohibited from wearing
ornaments. Hence, though the days of burning them alive


NOT NEAT, BUT GAUDY.
upon their husband’s tombs have passed
away, Hindu widows still have their trials.
The residences of foreigners in Colombo
are called bungalows, and are only one
story high, with airy rooms and deep, broad
porticoes, almost as spacious as the house
itself.
of palms, and, as we drove along, we saw,
Around them is invariably a grove
among these shafts whose fringes rustled
in the breeze, attractive groups of white-
robed figures, apparently enjoying life amid
the most delightful conditions.
The natives say that “Ceylon is only forty miles from
heaven," and even the foreign residents call it “paradise.
'1
In fact, the loftiest mountain on the island bears the name of
“Adam's Peak," and a hollow in the summit is said to have
been made by Adam's foot when he stepped from Eden.

A BUNGALOW.
INDIA 21

Ceylon certainly has enchanting qualities, yet here the sun
must be as much avoided as the Evil One, and while the orig-
inal Paradise possessed but one serpent, this lovely island has
a million. A common sight, therefore, is that of natives
worshiping deities in the form
of snakes, in order to propiti-
ate their wrath. The majority of
those who die from snake-bites in
India are peasants, whose naked
limbs and feet are exposed to attack
while working in the fields. No
other country in the world affords .
such opportunities for snake stories, mm W A“ ‘"D'A“ “"“CESs'
but I shall confine myself to facts. They are sufficiently
sensational. According to the official reports more than
nineteen thousand human beings died in India in 1892 from
snake-bites.
When I had recovered my breath after reading this, I lost
it again, on learning that during the same year nine hundred
and forty-seven people were destroyed by tigers, two'hundred
IN COLOMBO.


22 INDIA
and sixty by leopards, one hundred and eighty-two by
wolves, and that more than eightythousand head of cattle
had been killed by serpents or wild beasts. Nor are these
figures exceptional. In 1888, over twenty thousand deaths
were caused by snakes and nine hundred and seventy-five by
tigers. Rewards are offered by the Government for the de-
struction of wild beasts and reptiles; and in the case of tigers
the result is good. No one is disposed to trifle with a man-
0
h

WORSE-I1 PING SNAKES.
eater. But such is the poverty of the people that these
rewards cause the natives in many districts to go into the
business of breeding snakes. Hence it remains a problem
whether the remedy is not worse than the disease.
Notwithstanding these indisputable facts, during the win-
ter months and on the regular routes of travel, the only tigers
that I saw were kept in cages, and all the reptiles I beheld
were those displayed by snake-charmers. These snake-
charmers possessed for me'a horrible fascination. They are
as numerous in Indian towns as organ-grinders are with us,
.ONZOAOU H< whkdm m0 Hon-“Mm <

it‘.
Q
.
‘e004
INDIA 25
and at the door of every large hotel one of their exhibitions
is going on from morning until night. Old residents of India,
however, do not like to see them. The sight recalls to them
too forcibly the dreadful summer months when, every morn-
ing, on account of scorpions, their shoes must be “well
shaken before taken," and when (without any ground for
being accused of having delirium tremens), they sometimes
see a hideous reptile glide across the floor, or find, on turn-
. 4.,
,r 7?

A MAN—EATER.
ing down the sheet, a deadly cobra coiled up in the bed.
Another drawback to one’s happiness in Ceylon is the mul-
titude of land-leeches which not only creep upon the pedes-
trian's body from the ground, but drop upon him from the
trees. These frightful pests are, unless gorged with blood,
only half an inch long, and so thin that they can make their
way through a stocking without difficulty; but their bite is
exceedingly irritating and blood flows freely from the wound.
English soldiers in the Ceylon jungles have sometimes died
from the bites of these diminutive but innumerable foes.
26 INDIA
Hence Europeans in certain portions of the island wear what
are called “ leech-gaiters," made of rubber or hard cloth.
These are drawn closely over the shoe and are fastened
around the knee. Fortunately citric acid is ordinarily suffi-
cient to protect one from these pests, and those who are


A SNAKE-CHARMER.
obliged to do much walking in the lowlands, usually carry
a lemon with them and moisten with its juice the parts of
their bodies liable to be attacked.
Another unpleasant feature of this “paradise" is the damp-
ness, which during the rainy season is so great that without
the constant care of a “clothes-boy” wearing-apparel, books,
papers, and household linen are quickly covered with a green-


A EUROPEAN'S RESIDENCE, COLOMBO.
ish mould. We were told that from May to October nothing
can be kept dry here, and that the walls of the houses are
covered with moisture. Such humidity combined with the
tropical heat would Seem to make the climate of Ceylon any-
thing but paradisiacal.
After a few days spent in Colombo, we made a journey of
four hours by rail to a far lovelier and cooler portion of Cey-



NATIVE DWELLINGS, COLOMBO.
28 INDIA
lon, fifteen hundred feet above the sea, in the mountainous
interior of the island, where is its ancient capital, Kandy. The
railway journey up the mountains can never be forgotten.
The road itself, which is said to have cost the life of one
native for every sleeper, is a triumph of engineering skill,
frequently winding along the edge of cliffs from which the
mountain falls away to a depth of fourteen hundred feet.
Waterfalls, rushing downward to the valley, were often visible
above us on the one side, or below us on the other, sweeping

-7_' 1'4“ 7. _
in [II If a“. ‘ 1 '7,
.p -- ,, "tan .
AL- I' fll'lmv A»;


THE MUSEUM. COLOMBO.
beneath the bridges over which our train moved in safety. In
making the ascent, we noted with the keenest interest our
passage from the tropics to a temperate zone, as evidenced
not only in the vegetation but in the temperature. In subse-
quently descending to the coast, this experience was, of course,
reversed; and leaving in the morning the health-resort of
Nuwara Eliya on the summit, more than six thousand feet above
the sea-level,where open fires had been appreciated, we watched
the mercury gradually rise, till in the afternoon on our arrival
in Colombo, we found that our thermometer indicated ninety
degrees. The situation of Kandy is one of the most peculiar
INDIA 29
I have ever seen; for it is built around an artificial lake three
miles in circuit, and sloping up from this on every side is
a vast amphitheatre of enchanting mountains, covered with
semitropical vegetation. Beyond these are extensive, rarely-
visited uplands, where roam in herds the celebrated elephants
indigenous to Ceylon. These animals are still so valuable as


TEA PLANTATION ON THE HILLS, CEYLON.
beasts of burden, that a fine of twenty-five hundred dollars is
imposed for killing one, and about three hundred and fifty of
them are exported to India annually, just as in past centuries.
An afternoon drive over the splendid English roads con-
structed on these heights forms one of my most agreeable
memories of the island. I
Ceylon is only fifty miles or so from India, and is about
the size of Ireland. It has the form of a pear, detached
from the great tree of which it formed a part by some
3o INDIA

geological action
of remote an-
tiquity. That
tree was India.
The heart of this
delicious pear,

concealed from
all external view
and touch, was
the old capital,
Kandy. In the
same year that
saw Napoleon
defeated on the
field of Waterloo
(1815), the Eng-
lish conquered
the last king of
Kandy, and set
this additional
jewel in the British crown. Since then the population has
ON THE HEIGHTS.
increased from seven hundred and fifty thousand to nearly
three million, and instead of sandy paths, twenty-five hun-



INDIA 31



THE LAKE AT HANDY.
dred miles of well-made roads and nearly two hundred miles
of railway have been built.
The period of British rule is, however, only a small frac-
tion of the island’s history. Amid the dense and dangerous
forests of Ceylon are remnants of pagodas, palaces, and tem-
ples constructed centuries before the Christian era. Yet of
the race which built them we know almost nothing. They
hint to us of an antiquity as silent and trackless as the jungle
which has smothered them. One thing, however, is certain:
the race that
flourished here

when the popu-
lation of Ceylon
was probably
twice as large as
at the present
time, must have
been very intelli-
gent; for on this
island are the


ruins of enor-
A LOVELY VIEW-
mous reservoirs,

former usefulness.


RUIN AND jUNGLE.
seven miles
square, from
which a net-
work of canals
brought water
to the thirsty
plains. Infact,
the present gov-
ernor of Ceylon
is trying, after a
lapse of twenty
centuries, to re-
store these res-
ervoirs to their
But the most famous object here, and that
which makes of Kandy a religious centre, is the old Buddhist
Temple of the Sacred Tooth.
It is an insignificant-looking
building, grimy with age; yet the kings of Burma and Siam
send yearly contributions for its maintenance, and Buddhist
priests, even in far-away Japan, speak of it with the utmost
reverence. This
sanctity is due
to the fact that
it contains a
relic said to be
the left eye-
tooth of Bud-
dha, taken from
the ashes of his
funeral pyre,
two thousand
five hundred
years ago. On


INNER TEMPLE OF THE SACRED TOOTH.

I .
are“.
I as
" a



TEMPLE OF THE SACRED TOOTH.
I Q . .
I o 0. one s‘ '.
I .‘
‘ a Q .0 .
Q . . O‘.
.0 Q
~. . . 0 ‘
..'.
e‘.
c
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6.!-
INDIA 35
rare occasions this is publicly exhibited—at a safe distance.
Only a few distinguished foreigners, like the Prince of \Vales,
have been allowed to inspect it; but though it has been revered
for more than two thousand years, it is well known that no
human mouth could ever have contained it, for it is two inches
long, and an inch in thickness, being. apparently, a piece of
ivory from an elephant’s tusk. Yet every year, in the month
of july, a grand procession takes place here in honor of this
wonderful tooth, reverenced by a third of the human race.
Passing through the outer gate of this temple, we found
ourselves in a kind of courtyard.
Around it were some unattract-
ive buildings, inhabited by Bud-
dhist priests. ‘We were ad-
mitted into the small struc~
ture in the centre of this
area, and saw behind a
gilded grating, on a
richly decorated altar,
a golden bell three
feet in height, and
adorned with rubies,
emeralds, and other
-0.
precious stones. Be-
neath this outer bell
are several smaller
.'/>'///n ///_//x/
ones, and, underneath
the last of all, resting
upon a golden lotus,
isthe tooth itself. But
that we were not per~ a
mitted to see. Re-
turning to the outer
gate, we confessed to
PILLARS IN THE PALACE
OF THE KANDIAN' KINGS.


36 INDIA
each other that we were somewhat disappointed. \Ve had
expected a great deal of this Buddhist shrine, having just
read Sir Edwin Arnold's “India Revisited,” in which he

A BUDDHIST SHRINE, CEYLON.
speaks of the reception given him here by the priests, and
even quotes verbatim the flowery speech they made to him,
beginning, “O Poet!" Hence, though we had talked with
one of the priests who had conversed with him, and though
we had beheld a present from Sir Edwin to the temple, still
we were far from satisfied, and could not bring ourselves to
leave till we had witnessed the approaching “ evening service.’ '
Presently the evening worshipers began to assemble; and
one of them, the most persistent beggar I have ever seen,
followed us about for more than an hour with outstretched
hands. When finally the “service" began, I found, to my
astonishment, that it consisted chiefly in blowing discordant
INDIA 37
horns, beating drums, and marching
round an altar loaded with sweet-
scented flowers. This horrible or-
chestra led a procession of forty or
fifty devotees, many of whom were
blear-eyed and half-naked. Sir Ed-
win was more fortunate than I. Can-
dor compels me to say that I would
not have come in contact with a single
one of these priests or laymen for
even a glimpse of the sacred tooth.
In saying this, I would not be
misunderstood. I yield to none in
admiration for the self-sacrificing life

and beautiful moral precepts of Gau- V
tama Buddha. I reverence, too, the “Km Fm‘ mm‘
marvelous power of a man whose gentle deeds and noble
words still hold in one religion, after twenty-five hundred
years, nearly a third of the human race. But admiration for

A WAC-ON 0F COLOMBO-
38 INDIA
the teachings of its founder cannot conceal the fact that
between Buddha and the ordinary Buddhism of to-day there
is a heaven-wide difference. Of this the Buddhistic Holy of
Holies in Kandy is a proof; and, since this has for its con-
spicuous features the gross imposture of the “Sacred Tooth,"
I
‘I
I.
‘
.l
‘.
i
1

A BUDDHIST ALTAR,
a half-barbaric style of worship, and an environment of dirt
and beggars, we realize how polluted has become the stream
which issued from so pure a spring.
It is a remarkable fact that, however powerful Buddhism
may be in Ceylon, in India itself it holds at present a very
unimportant place. Under the inspiration of its founder,
twenty-five centuries ago, it was a grand revolt against the
tyranny of Hinduism, and at first seemed likely to replace it.
But Hinduism rose again, vanquished its youthful conqueror,
and finally drove it out of India. It found indeed a strong-
INDIA 39
hold in the island of Ceylon, where it is still the dominant
faith. But India is practically held to-day by Hinduism and
Mohammedanism, the Buddhists, Parsees, Jews, and Chris-
tians being insignificant in comparison. Thus, in 1891, there
were in India, in round numbers, two hundred and seven mil-
lion Hindus, fifty-seven million Mohammedans, and only
seven million Buddhists. Strange to say, both Buddhism and
Christianity are outcasts from the lands where they origin-
ated—the one from India, the other from Judea; and both
are flourishing best in countries far beyond the seas—Chris-

THE PROCESSION OF THE SACRED TOOTH.
tianity in Europe and America, Buddhism in Burma, China,
and Japan.
Kandy possesses what is, undoubtedly, so far as arboreal
cultivation is concerned, the finest botanical garden in the
world. Its floral display is somewhat limited; but its vast
4o INDIA
park of one hundred and fifty acres contains more rare and in-
teresting trees than I have elsewhere seen. Everything here
is admirably arranged. Intelligent English-speaking guides,
appointed by the Government, accompany travelers through
the park and thoroughly explain its treasures. Perhaps the



ENTRANCE TO THE GARDENS.
loveliest of its large variety of palms is that which has the
shape of a gigantic fan; but there are also here the Palmyra
palms, sometimes a hundred feet in height, and cocoanut and
sago-palms, and one that always calls forth a romantic inter-
est,—-the talipat-palm, which blooms but once after a prepar-
ation lasting from fifty to eighty years. Then, having gained
the object of its whole existence, it gradually dies,-—resembling

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v.14 .. x . ti. v
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4
a c o O u 0 DD."
. . ... . .- .offffffffff v v » .. o s o
.90 .


thus some hu-
man hearts,
which are so ab-
solutely given
to one grand
achievement or
supreme affec-
tion, that when
that is attained
there remains
nothing more
for them in life.
Yet that one
glorious climax
—-like the won-
derful flores-

ccnce of the THEFANPALM.
fronded palm—makes them contented to have lived, and
ready, then, to die. We looked with astonishment on the
clumps of bam-
boo growing
here, each of
whose stems is
more than a
hundred feet in
height and near-
ly a foot in di-
ameter. A man
beside them
seems a pigmy.
A child might be
concealed in one
of their joints.
Yet these were

ACLUMPOFBAMBOO- not bamboo
.44 INDIA
groves, but merely separate clusters, eighty feet thick, resem-
bling with their graceful, feathery tops gigantic ostrich-
feathers. Nor is the rapidity with which the bamboo grows
here less remarkable than the size which it attains. By actual
measurement it has been shown to increase in the rainy
season at the rate of half-an-inch an hour, or a foot a day.
We observed
also with in-
terest a speci-
men of bread-
fruit, which in
form resembles
a melon, and
weighs about
three pounds.
We learned that
the trees which
produce it bear
fruit for nine
months of the
year, and that
five or six of
them will eas-
ily maintain a
good-sized fam-
BAMBOO STEMS- ily. Here, too,

we saw varieties of camphor and sweet-scented spice-trees.
When the bark of the cinnamon tree was broken in our hands
the odor from it was delicious; and when I plucked a genuine
nutmeg and had cut it open, I realized how farl was from
the State of Connecticut. My New York friend, however, was
most elated when he had picked and tasted a fresh clove.
“ This," he exclaimed, “ almost makes me homesick. It is
the first time I ever ate a clove outside the Hoffman House! "
INDIA
45
One of the most inter-
esting objects to me in this
garden was the famous sens-
itive plant, to which it seems
almost impossible not to
attribute feeling and intelli-
gence, since, at the slightest
touch on any part of it, the
entire shrub contracts and
shrinks from the intruder
like a terrified child.
In the hotel at Kandy
I was presented to Arabi
Pasha, the Egyptian revolu-
tionary leader who, in I882,
issued a proclamation to his
A SENSITIVE PLANT (CLOSED).


A SENSITIVE PLANT (man).


countrymen, that he was
inspired by the Prophet to
free the country of its for-
eign rulers. He adopted for
his motto “Egypt for the
' But though
he made a desperate strug-
Egyptians. '
gle to achieve the freedom
of his countrymen, his forces
were defeated by the Brit-
ish at Tel-el-Kebir, and he
himself was taken prisoner.
He was at first sentenced to
death, but this punishment
was commuted to that of
perpetual exile, and he was
sent to Ceylon.
I found him to
be a handsome,
dignified man,
very bitter in his
feelings toward
the British Gov-
ernment for hav-
ing exiled him to
this island, the
climate of which
he declared was
totally unsuited
to him. Within
a few months,
he said, he had
been compelled to come from Colombo, where he had at first

BREADFRUIT.
resided, to Kandy, in the hope of improving his health.
“But life," he
exclaimed, “ has
nothing more
for me now. My
country is en-
slaved, and I,
alas! shall never
look again upon
the Nile.”
Leaving Cey-
lon and its bo-
tanic wonder-
land, we found
ourselves, after a

delightful jour-
11 e y O f I h 1' E e AN mmmnusaan ‘mas.
INDIA 47
days, in the lovely harbor of Bombay. Those who can enter
India at this point are fortunate. The first impressions of
Calcutta are by no means so attractive. Calcutta, it is true,
is called the “City of Palaces," but it is really Bombay that
deserves the title, for it is not only the best built city in
India, it is the finest modern city in the entire East. Even
where the native population is in the majority there are many

IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS, KANDY.
handsome residences, while its magnificent public buildings,
built of finely decorated stone, are worthy to be compared
with those of any European city, and its new railway station
is probably the finest in the world.
As we surveyed with admiration the noble structure
known as the High Court, and other equally handsome speci-
mens of architecture, we were reminded that one cause of
Bombay’s wealth was our own Civil War. Bombay grew
rich when we were poor; for while our cotton crop was of
4s INDIA
necessity neglected, India controlled the markets of the world.
It is true, her season of prosperity was of short duration, and
the enormous profits then acquired now seem like fables of
some golden age; nevertheless, Bombay then gained a great
commercial impetus which she has never lost, and which the
opening of the Suez Canal has made secure forever.
Many of the statues, schools, and public institutions of
Bombay have been the gifts of that remarkable portion of its
population known as Parsees.





v i - »
,r-Ii‘lfl‘a“
'. A’: m3“.-
STATUE OF VICTORIA, BOMBAY,
and children;
tains in
and Parsees were most
Thus, one of
them contributed seventy-five thousand dol-
lars toward establishing the Elphinstone High
School, one of the most beautiful edifices
of the city; another founded here the
school of art; two of them built a hos-
pital for natives; two others endowed an
equally fine establishment for women
while another has
erected several handsome foun-
the principal streets;
influ-
ential in giving to Bombay
its beautiful marble statue of
the Empress of India.
It is interesting to remem-
ber that these Parsees are
entirely unlike both Hindus
They
are descendants of another
and Mohammedans.
race,— professors of another
faith. Their prophet was the
philosopher of Persia, Zoro-
Their coming here
About
eleven centuries ago, the fol-
aster.
is easily explained.
INDIA 49
lowers of Mohammed, issuing from Arabia, swept round the
Mediterranean in their path of conquest, till one point of their
sparkling cres-

cent pointed
toward the Bos-
porus, and the
other glittered
star-like over
the Spanish
towers of Gra-

nada. Not sat-
isfied with this, > i i if
thg Moslems rmmonor some”.
hastened eastward into Persia,—giving the populace, as usual,
their choice between the sword and the Koran. The most,
of course, accepted the Koran. But some, intensely loyal to
their fathers’ faith, left Persia and fled into India. The de-
scendants of those exiles are the Parsees of to-day. As they


marry only among themselves, the purity of their race is pre-
served, and, like the Jews, they can be easily recognized by
certain char- acteristics common to them all. Like
H e brew s, i also, they are sagacious merchants
and shrewd financiers, and often accumulate large
fortunes. It is a lovely drive along the bay to the
promontory " “ where the wealthy Parsees chiefly
reside, the ' famous Malabar Hill. Frequently,
W... 3*“. _.._ _-_;.___»..__Vr,.._


THE HIGH COURT AND OTHER PUBLIC BUILDINGS.
50 INDIA
‘ lifeless and de-
at the close of day, just as the sun was sinking into the blue
Arabian sea, I beheld Parsees standing on the shore, facing the
west, and ap-
parently send-
ing forth their
evening prayer
to the depart-
ing luminary
over a rippling
path of gold.
Parsees are
called“ Fire-
,9


worshipers;
AGROL'P or masses. but that is a
name which they themselves repudiate. They are devout
believers in one God, the symbol of whose glorious majesty
is the sun,— that radiant, never-failing source of heat and
light, without
which our re-

volving planet,
frozen to the
h e a rt , w o u l d
soonrollthrough
its gloomy orbit,
serted. But this
grand emblem
of divinity is
far too dazzling

for mortal gaze;
hence its imme-
diate substitute
on earth is fire. Who cannot understand this silent adoration


THE ELPHINSTONE HIGH SCHOOL.
of the Infinite, awakened by the contemplation of our own
0......" a .. .125 <

o".
I.‘
1.\\
no.‘
INDIA 53

and countless
other suns,
strewn broad-
cast through
the shoreless
ocean we call
space? Com-
pared with the
sickening idol-
atry of Hindu-
ism the Parsee
faith is purity
itself. It toler-
ates no images,

and even its ALONG THE SHORE.
temples are entirely empty, save for the altar on which burns
the sacred fire. This flame, which the attendants never
suffer to expire, is really a continuation of the fire brought
hither by the
exiled Persians

centuries ago.
The Parsees
are in some re-
spects the best
inhabitants of
England’s In-

dian Empire.
They consti—
tute, numeri-
cally, only
about one-tenth
of the popula-
tion of Bom-
THE DRIVE 10 MALABAR HILL. bay, but their

54 INDIA
intelligence and enterprise have made their influence supreme.
Some of them have been knighted for services rendered to
the British Government. They are Bombay’s wealthiest citi-
zens and most important merchants; their deeds of charity
are unsurpassed; they are all finely educated, and speak the




PUBLIC BUILDING, BOMBAY.
English language fluently; they are thoroughly loyal to Great
Britain; and (being a small minority, which under native rule
might easily be crushed between the upper and nether mill-
stones of Hinduism and Mohammedanism) they gain from
England's liberal rule religious toleration and protection for
their property.
One of the most interesting objects in Bombay, connected
INDIA 55
with the Parsees, is the place in which they leave their dead.
Nothing offends the senses in the Parsee cemetery. Its situa-
tion is delightful. It occupies the summit of a hill in the
most beautiful suburb of Bombay, and overlooks the calm
Arabian Sea. On entering it, we first saw only a spacious
well-kept garden, where blossoms filled the air with perfume.
Amid these beautiful surroundings is a modest edifice where
is preserved the
Sacred Fire.
Passing by
this, we per-
ceived five cir-
cular structures,
which we knew
to be the cele-
brated “Towers
of Silence.’ In
view of the great
wealth of the
Parsees in Bom-
bay, I had ex—
pected in these

buildings some- ‘ ’ , m
thing elegant or imposing. Q But here, as in their temples,
everything is plain. In each jcase, only a curving wall was
visible, twenty-five feet in height and ninety in diameter,
covered with white cement and smooth as porcelain. The
only decoration each possessed was seen along its rounded
parapet, and even that was'ifrequently disturbed. For all the
figures there, so motionless and statuesque, were not in stone
or bronze. They were alive,—a row of vultures waiting for
their prey!
After about an hour's time, we saw a funeral procession
approach. The body was conveyed by venerable priests,
56 INDIA
arrayed in pure white robes. Slowly they bore their burden
through flower-bordered paths toward one of the abodes of
silence. There

FF...‘ - , ~ .4 a ,l
(i. . , a . ‘xi was no pageant
7 MI I ~ ‘ I o “" l -
4. " ‘ .57‘ ordlsplay. None
is permitted
mm.’ 5‘
" ' here. Within
. - s -
. ‘l ‘__ _ ; ’%5'i,”'




I l ‘ . .
I this area, rich
and poor, noble
4a”
and serf, mingle


alike in absolute
am; .e... “~‘l‘i‘i?s......__ . equality- Death
A ‘POWER or SILENCE. is the only
who must be recognized. After some prayers had been re-
cited, the mourners turned sadly away. When they had dis-
appeared, the priests again took up the body, and, at the
sight, the keen-eyed vultures left their perch and circled
slowly through the air.
Within the circular wall of each of the towers, near the
top, is an iron grating. On this the lifeless form is reverently
laid. Then,with
averted face,
the chief priest
draws away the

pure white bur-
ia l - r o b e a n (:1
passes from the
scene. At once
the air is dark-
ened by a bun-
dred birds,
swooping down
WAITING FOR THEIR PREV.
to the grim feast before them. In fifteen minutes only the
bones are left. These soon fall through the grating to a


INDIA 57
crypt below which is entirely open to the sun and sky. Hor-
rible, do we say? It certainly seems so, and yet ideas in this
respect are largely matters of education; and the intelligent
Parsee thinks that burial in the earth or sea is far more dread-
ful in its consequences than to consign the body at once to
the birds of the air.
One of the most extraordinary features of Bombay is its
hospital for animals. Here, in a large and fairly well-kept
area, we saw a multitude of emaciated horses; diseased cows;
mangy dogs, apparently howling for liberty or death; hair-
less cats; dys-

peptic looking
monkeys; lame
sheep; broken-
winged birds;
and even cer-
tain insects and
reptiles—all of
which here find
shelter, food,
water, and at-


tention, till they i THE HOSPITAL m ANIMALS.
recover or die. Both Hinduism and Buddhism strenuously
inculcate kindness to animals, and the result is to make one-
half of the human race vegetarian from principle, and merciful
toward all dumb creatures. It is a question, however, whether
it would not be better to put sick animals out of misery at
once; but to the believer in the transmigration of souls, such
conduct would seem little less than murder. In contrast to
the cruelties inflicted upon beasts of burden in the Occident,
the Buddhist way of treating “our dumb friends" is surely a
rebuke to Christian nations. Like many religious tenets,
however, this has been carried to an absurd extreme. Thus,
millions in India will not even kill the parasites which infest
58 INDIA
their bodies, but will remove them carefully and lay them to
one side, as if to say: “'Please try another pasture for a
while; I need a little rest." There can be no doubt also that
this extreme respect for animal life has enabled tigers, wolves,
and venomous snakes to multiply in India, till they together
cause a terrible mortality annually.
On the island of Elephanta, six miles distant from Bom-
bay, we visited one of the many rock-hewn temples for which

ROCK-HE\\‘.\' TEMPLE OF ELEPHANT-Q.
Hindustan is famous. There are about a thousand shrines in
India excavated from the solid rock, in the form of caves,
gigantic columns being left to support the overhanging clifl.
These shafts are often fluted and elaborately carved, and on
the walls huge figures were once sculptured in relief; In the
cave of Elephanta, however, we found most of the statues
terribly mutilated; for the Portuguese planted cannon before
the entrance to the temple, and amused themselves by bom-
barding the forms of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. Although
‘slit
.0010
.0’)
A FORMER RULER.

‘off
‘\I
e
INDIA 61
this temple is not the largest specimen of such rock-hewn
architecture, its main hall extends into the cliff to a depth of
one hundred and thirty feet, while the roof is upheld by
twenty-six massive columns,
and the statues cut from the
cliff are from twelve to twen-
ty-five feet high.
The origin of this place of
Hindu worship is lost in ob-
scurity, but there seems to be
little doubt that it ‘is at least
seven centuries old, and some . ..
of India's excavated shrines, A “WW DANCING GIRL-
the majority of which belong to the Buddhist faith, are be-
lieved to antedate the Christian era. To one who has seen
the temples and tombs of Egypt, the resemblance between
these structures is extraordinary; and it is possible that the
idea was borrowed by the inhabitants of India from the dwel-
lers in the valley of the Nile. At all events, it is not strange
that this style of architecture became popular in India, for
although involving immense labor, such temples cannot be
destroyed by fire, nor will they crumble away with age, and in
this torrid climate the temperature in such caves is always
cool, since the fierce solar rays are totally excluded. Though
mutilated, they have at least survived the terrible violence of



CONVEYANCES IN INDIA.


62 INDIA
religious hatred, which again and again, under the names of
Buddhism, Brahminism, and Mohammedanism, entirely de-
stroyed most of the ancient temples in the north of India.
The shrines of southern India were more fortunate, and
although a little more difficult of access, will repay a visit, if
only to remind one, by their wonderful dimensions and elab-
Rt » .. .. = '
‘mm-wt‘ __ a, ’
a 11. "-1.. .
,‘i-F i

MARKET- PLACE, IEYPORE.
orate carving, of the old vanished shrines of Delhi and
Benares.
From Bombay we journeyed northward to the still more
picturesque and Asiatic city of Jeypore. On entering its
principal square, I at once exclaimed: “This is, at last, the
India of my imagination; not Anglicized by foreign associa-
tions, like Bombay, but a bright, animated picture of the
Orient, gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow, both in
dress and architecture, and thronged with an astonishing vari-
ety of races, costumes, and complexions.”
We lingered for an hour in the busy market-place, absorb-
ing, with the keenest interest, the gay and novel sights
INDIA 63
around us; and yet so rapidly did they pour in upon this
stage from north, south, east, and west, that no one brain or
memory could graspthemall. In


one place the .4 great square
5 e e m e d \i: paved with
pi geo n s, which flew
about us with per-
fectfear- lessness
born of the cer-
tainty _ of never
b e i n g - I harmed;
foranimal life is sa-
cred in In- ' 7 . dia. Oc-
casional~ - . g; 1y camels
stalked by I ,\ #Qife with stealthy
tread, a leer up-
_ on their scowl-
ing faces, as if SACRED ANIMAL ura- they would say,
if they could, “What have you in the Occident to equal
this?” On the roofs of many of the neighboring buildings
sat wild peacocks, resembling sculptured birds of paradise;
and amid curi- ‘
ous Oriental ve-
hicles, Arabian
horses frequent-
ly pranced by,
ridden by offi-
cers of the Ma-
harajah.
But most as-
tonishing of all


were the huge
elephants,which W ASCENEINIEYPORE-
frequently appeared with loads of people on their backs,
as naturally as London omnibuses. It seemed as if a part
64 INDIA
of Barnum’ 5
“Greatest Show
on Earth” had
suddenly broken
loose. Some of
these animals
were as large as
Jumbo, others
were tattooed in
various colors,
and not a few
were gorgeously


caparisonedwith
A TRAVELING 1mm gold and velvet.
Moreover, as their cushioned feet give forth no sound, most
of these elephants wore rows of tinkling bells about their
necks, in order to give warning to people in the streets.
A sudden desire seized us to mount one of these beasts
and take a ride; but to climb to the high-perched seat, even
While the ele-
phant stood still

for a moment,
seemed quite as
difficult as for a
pilot to ascend
the rope-ladder
at the side of an
ocean steamer.
Seeing our per-
plexity, the
driver uttered a
command, and
the intelligent

monster gradu- '7 I — whrrmc, FOR mssznosas.
INDIA 65
ally knelt until his back came within reasonable distance.
Then, clambering up the steps, we took our seats. The
earthquake shock which followed, as the ungainly pachyderm
rose to his feet with two convulsive efforts, fore and aft, will
always be connected in my memory with a storm at sea.
A love for elephant-riding must be an acquired taste.
Until I rode upon-the back of one, I never knew that when
these huge beasts walk, they move both legs on one side at
.‘J
the same time.

Seen from the
ground, this
seems a trifle;
but on that un-
dulating hill-top

such a gait com-
municates itself
without delay
to the nerve-
centres of your
inmost being.
\Vhile, there-
fore, I am glad . - . .
to THE HALL OF THE ‘WINDS.
this to a long list of curious sensations, I shall be satisfied


henceforth to see some other man enjoy it.
The architecture of Jeypore appears as strange as the
bright waves of Oriental life which flow between its walls.
One singular structure filled me with astonishment. It is well
named the “Hall of the Winds,” for, in respect to architec-
tural design, no one could tell “whence it cometh and whither
it goeth." It is a wild, fantastic edifice, nine stories high,
covered with pink and cream-colored stucco. One might
compare it to a huge shell-cameo, beautifully tinted and deli-
cately carved. I thought at first that it was ornamented here
66 INDIA
and there with bits of special color, but in reality what looked
like points of emerald and pearl were living paroquets and
pigeons, their brilliant plumage literally dovetailed into all
the dainty pin-

nacles.
The Mahara-
jah's palace also,
though not re-
markably sub-
stantial, is,

nevertheless, ex-
ceedingly bril-
liant in appear-
ance. In this
respect it har-
monizes with


the situation
of the man who
lives in it. His so-called “ power" is quite as showy and
THE MAHARAJAH‘S PALACE.
ephemeral as this painted stucco, and his entire kingdom is
only about as large as the State of Massachusetts. England
has various ways of dealing with these Indian potentates. If
they resist and show themselves ungrateful for her gifts of civ-
ilization and Christianity, she quietly dethrones and pensions
them. If they are quiet and appreciative, she sometimes let
them play at royalty. There is always at their courts, how-
ever, an English resident, who acts as an “ adviser."
Nevertheless, this kind of government has been of great
advantage to Jeypore; for this bright town is as Oriental as
an Asiatic prince would be, who, though retaining Eastern
dress, had nevertheless been educated in Europe and had
adopted many of its customs. Thus, all these streets,
thronged with Arab horses, elephants, and camels, are lighted
now by electricity.
INDIA 67
jeypore has also nearly fifty schools, in three of which
eight hundred girls receive instruction,—a wonderful fact in
native India. The Museum of Jeypore, which would do
honor to any capital of Europe, stands in a public garden,
seventy acres in extent. On this the Maharajah annually
expends about fifteen thousand dollars. I saw no modern
structure in the entire East which pleased me more; for its
style of architecture is symmetrical and beautiful, and, after
seeing so many stuccoed buildings, this noble edifice, con-
structed of variegated marble, delighted me with its solidity
and genuine worth. Moreover, its treasures are of priceless
value, portraying as they do most of the famous industries of
India, from the brass-work of Benares to the shawls of Cash-
mere.
On leaving the Museum, our attention was directed to the
Maharajah's fort, far up on the hill. There seemed to be a
large inscription cut upon the cliff below its wall. By means
of a field-glass, I found that this consisted of the one word
“ \IVelcome,”—-a pretty compliment paid to one of the sons
of Queen Vic-
toria during a

recent visit.
But, being chis-
eled in the
solid rock, the
word remains
there like a per-
petual invita-
tion. I won-
dered, there-
fore, whether,
if some other conqueror should ever come, with promises to
all these Maharajahs of a partial restoration of their territory,
they would help him to drive the English out of India, and,


THE MUSEUM OF JEVPORE.
68 INDIA

if so, whether
the inviting le-
gend on the cliff
would still read
as it does to-
day? Would
such a conqueror
be really “ wel-
come?" Many
in India an-
swer “No,” but
others whisper
" Yes."
Saying fare-
well at last to

“Em”- Jeypore, we
made our way to one of the oldest and most interesting cities
in the world.—Benares. This holy city of the Hindus was
at the height of its prosperity at least a thousand years before
the birth of Christ, and was already old when Plato taught
in Athens and
when the earli-

est Roman for-
tress rose upon
the Palatine.
The first view
that I gained
of Benares from
across the Gan-

ges quickened
my pulse and
made me catch
my breath, not


merely from its 7 _ if I i- f Bananas.
m @525. 255.: 24.

‘III.
INDIA 71

great antiquity, but from the fact that to a vast proportion
of the human race this is the holiest situation upon earth,
raised spiritually as far above the ordinary abodes of man as
the unrivaled summits of the Himalayas soar above the plains
of Hindustan.


AMONG THE TEMPLES-
As the Hebrew still fondly turns to jerusalem, as the
Christian kneels adoringly at Bethlehem or at Rome, and as
the Moslem crosses the scorching desert to prostrate himself
at Mecca, so the Hindu makes his pilgrimage to Benares.
Aye, more than this, since here it was, twenty-five centuries
ago, that Buddha spoke those words of love which have so
72 INDIA
transformed the Eastern world, another great religion also
claims Benares as its own; and since the Buddhists and the
A Hindus, com-
bined, form

fully seven hun-
dred millions
of the human
race, this an-
cient, temple-
burdened city
exceeds all oth-
ers in the world
in the vast num-



bers of its de-
ma canoes. vgtefis,
The principal feature of Benares is the river Ganges, which

surpasses all others in sanctity. Here, it is not the town that
makes the river sacred—the river sanctifies the town. In
Hindu courts

of justice wit-
nesses take their
oaths upon the
water of the
Ganges, as those
who testify in
our courts do
upon the Bible.
To the thought-
ful traveler it
is a memorable


epoch in his life
THE SACR ED RIVER.
when he first
stands beside the Ganges. Other great rivers have, perhaps,
more fame; some, like the Tiber and the Rhine, have been
INDIA 73
politically more important; others again, like the Nile, have
been deified and worshiped; but none has ever gained the
place which this mysterious river holds, and for three thou-
sand years has held, in the estimation of countless millions.
Its source is in the Himalayas, the awful habitation of the
Hindu Trinity. At their command it issues forth, to call to
life and verdure the vast Indian plains which otherwise would
wither beneath the scorching sun. Then, after a course of
fifteen hundred miles, having fulfilled its mission, its waters
mingle with the boundless sea. But even this is not the end,
for all its precious drops are thence drawn upward by the sun,


THE DWELLING-PLACE OF BRAHMA-
and brought once more in clouds of gold to the resplendent
dwelling-place of Brahma. Thus is the river emblematic of
the Indian idea, that every human soul is in reality a tiny
part of the divine, which, passing through existence as the
Ganges passes through these burning plains, completes at last
its mighty cycle from infinite to infinite, from God to God.
It is a remarkable fact that, though the Ganges itself is so
sacred, the two banks which it divides here are as unlike as
Paradise and Hades. One holds a stately city, three miles
long, revered and visited by millions. The other is a sandy
waste, shunned by the natives like a place of pestilence. Upon
the northern shore the Hindus long to die, for thence they go
at once to heaven; but they believe that any one who expires
on the southern bank will, in the subsequent stage of his
74 INDIA
existence, be a donkey. The priests, however, have a ready
device for this calamity: they issue a kind of accident policy
against the chance of death on the unlucky shore, by saying
that those who make a pilgrimage once a year to a shrine
some miles away, and above all give it a little money, will be
exempt from asinine transmigration.
Engaging a boat, with natives to row us, we floated slowly
down the Ganges. The sights here on its northern bank are
almost inde-
scribable. Im-
agine a pano-
ramathreemiles
long, which, as
your boat glides
down the cur-
rent, seems to
unroll itself be-
fore you. Put
up your hands
like opera-glass-
es to your eyes
and look at any
portion of it
singly, and you
might fancy it
to be an elaborate theatre-curtain; for the background is a

THE BATHERS IN THE GANGES.
long, high cliff, covered with turreted walls and strangely
pointed domes, ascending tier above tier from the broad river
‘to the bright blue sky.
Along the river-bank, in one unbroken line, descend broad
staircases of stone, and on these steps stand, literally, thou-
sands of Hindus, praying, conversing, meditating, bathing, or
carrying away in jars the water of the hallowed stream.
As early as an hour after sunrise, I found these stairways
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thronged with
men, women,
and children,
clad merely in a
wisp of cotton,
yet mindful only
of one thing, be-
side which all
else in the uni-
verse was for a
moment worth-
less,—their bath
in the Holy Gan-
ges; for they be-

CARRVING AWAY THE GANGES WATER.
lieve that its thrice-sacred flood will purify their souls, if not
their bodies, and wash away all taint of sin.
I speak reservedly of the effect which bathing here may
have upon their bodies, for at Benares the Ganges is filthy


ON THE NORTHERN BANK.

in the extreme.
Happily for the
reputation of
the Hindus this
is not caused
entirely by the
blackness of
theirsins. Other
more practical
causes can be
found. Sewers
discharge their
contents into
the midst of all
these bathers.
Bushels of faded
78 INDIA
flowers, which have served as offerings in the temples, are
cast into the river here and float in fetid masses on its slug-
gish surface. Moreover, among these rotting and offensive
weeds are the remains of human bodies, which have been par-
tially cremated on the shore. Add to this the fact that, all
day long, thousands here cleanse their bodies and their cloth-
ing, and one can faintly comprehend the condition of the
water. Yet every bather takes up in his hands some of this
filthy, mucilag-

inous fluid, and
drinks it. Even
worse than this,
beasts of burden
carry away into
the Country gal-
lons of this riv-
er-water, which
finds ready pur-
Chasers; for,
thoughtheEng-
lish Govern-
ment provides

here a good sup-
TH’E PIERS AT BENARES.
ply of filtered
water, the people of Benares prefer to use the unadulterated
“Holy Ganges," and come long distances to fill their jars
with it and take it home. \Vhat wonder, then, that there is
always cholera at Benares, and that this valley of the Ganges
is a perfect laboratory of infection,—a paradise of microbes,
—a constant source of danger to the Western world? In
almost every instance where cholera has ravaged Europe,
Asia, or America, its origin has been distinctly traced back to
a starting-point in India, where it first appeared among the
crowds of filthy, half-starved pilgrims to the Ganges.
INDIA 79
Though there are miles of stone steps on this sacred shore,
open to all comers, they do not at times afford sufficient space
for the pilgrims, and wooden piers have in addition been built
out into the stream. Selecting one man on the spot for
observation, I saw him dip himself completely three or four
times; then he took up a little of the water in his hands and
drank it; and, finally, pinching his nose between his thumb
and forefinger, he held his breath as long as possible while
mentally repeat-
ing the name of
God. The only
part of this per-
formance that I
could really un-
derstand was
the necessity of
holding his nose!
Most of the men,
and many of the
w o m e n h e re,
had their heads
closely shaved,
for they are told I,
that for every CREMATION AT BENARES.
hair thus sacrificed they will secure a million years in Paradise.

Conspicuous among these places for ablution was a mud-
hole at the foot of a steep bank, between two broken flights
of steps. So filthy and neglected did this spot appear, that I
could hardly believe the statement that here are burned the
bodies of all Hindus—rich and poor alike—who have the
happiness of dying at Benares. “Happiness," I say; for to
expire beside the Ganges is considered a sure passport to
eternal bliss.
After minute inspection of these scenes during several
80 INDIA
hours, we landed at one point to see the so-called “Well of
Purification." It is a tank, about thirty feet in depth, sup-
posed to have been dug originally by the Hindu deity,
Vishnu, and to be, even now, partially filled with his perspi-
ration. After inhaling one good whiff from it, I was quite

THE WELL OF PURIFICATION.
ready to believe the statement; for it absolutely reeks with
the effiuvia of rotten flowers and the impurities of dirty mill-
ions who bathe themselves in the well before they step into
the sacred stream itself. Yet I saw at least a dozen people
drink this loathsome liquid. Priests serve it out by the ladle-
ful in exchange for money. A single swallow of that putrid
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I
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-,5\’.‘l
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~u
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a.»
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INDIA 83
mixture, it is affirmed, is warranted to drive out every par-
ticle of sin from the vilest criminal on earth; and I must say,
it appeared to me strong enough to do so.
I do not wish to make these facts unnecessarily revolting,
but one must describe them in order to give a truthful picture
of Benares. They are precisely what I saw, and what every
tourist will see, if he explores this capital of Hinduism. Nor
are these excep-
lig '
.-I“
tional features,
to be found with
difficulty; they
are the princi-
pal sights,—the
important char-
acteristics of
Benares and its
worshipers. All
of the idols on
the banks of the
river are hide-
ous; some are

obscene; while
a few are distin-
A PARADISE OF MICROBES.
guished by the
expression which one is apt to assume when the photographer
asks one “to look pleasant." In all the narrow streets of
Benares, one sees on sale thousands of idols, made of brass or
stone. some of which are said to be manufactured in Birming-
ham, England. Many of those that have their origin in India
are too disgusting to be illustrated, and some of the carvings
on the temples of Benares are too vile to be described. Pic-
tured and read of on the other side of the globe, viewed
through the long perspective of a score of centuries, discussed
in a transcendental way in a “Parliament of Religions,” and
84 INDIA ‘
judged of merely by its original sacred writings, the Hindu faith
appears to some a fine and wonderful religion. Like all relig-
ions, it certainly has some fundamental truths. But scruti-
nize it practically, face to face, in India, and it becomes the
most repulsive exhibition of idolatry, fanaticism, and filth
that one can well imagine; while the incessant demands for
money made by the insatiable priests fill one with unspeak-
able pity for their deluded victims. The superiority of Par-
seeism to Hinduism has already been


noted; and in a similar way the
religion of Mohammed,
compared with that
of Siva and Vish-
nu,ispur- ity itself;
for Is- lamism,
despite its sen-
sual Par- adise and
creed of conquest,
is at least free from
all idolatry and images
and teaches five
countless minarets
the worship of one * ""‘D" 5”“ God alone.
of any kind, _
times daily from its
“But how,” the reader naturally asks, “can educated
Brahmins, such as have recently been in this country, uphold
and defend such a religion as Hinduism?" They do so by
dwelling on its philosophical and metaphysical characteristics.
Some of its sacred books, written thirty-five hundred years ago,
are noble aspirations. Moreover, that early faith was free
from the idolatry and caste which are its curse to-day. But
how refined, intelligent men can have the slightest sympathy
with the Hindu religion, as it now exists, is more than I can
understand; for it should be carefully remembered that mem-
bers of the very small society of the Brahmo-Somaj (which
INDIA 85
may be called a party of Unitarian, free-thinking Hindus)
are not fair representatives of that great religion of Siva,
Vishnu, Kali,
and a thousand
othergods,which
holds within its
cruel grasp two
hundred mill-
ions of the hu-
man race.
One of the
most famous
temples at Be-
naresistheshrine


of Arnapurna,
the patroness of A" m0" 0" "'5 SHORE
beggars. No wonder she is popular in India! We could not,
with any consideration for ourselves or our clothing, advance
three feet beyond the threshold of this sacred shrine. Why?
Because a multi-
tude of sacred
bulls and cows

were wandering
over the marble
pavement, and
most of the en-
closure was filth-
ier than a pig-
sty. Nor is this
loathsome state


7 of things con-
A SACRED Co‘“ fined to this one
edifice. I walked repeatedly among the most revered and
celebrated temples here, and these or similar disgusting
86 INDIA

features characterized nearly all of them. The singular part of
the matter is, that to the assembled pilgrims we were spiritu-
ally just as vile as they were physically vile to us. Even the
most repulsive of them shrank from us, as much as we from
him; since, if a Christian or a Moham-
medan touches a Hindu while engaged in
his sacred duties, he must return immedi-
ately to the Ganges and take another bath.
The sacred bulls and cows that roam
about the temples of Benares are the luck-
iest animals in the world. They are petted,
as well as worshiped, all day long, their
appetites being tempted constantly with
every dainty dear to bovine taste,
from fruit and clover up to rose-
leaves and confectionery. They even
stroll about the bazaar and eat what-
ever they fancy in the traders’ stalls.
Around their necks and horns gar-
lands. of fragrant flowers are often

hung. Some of these creatures, how-
ever, are diseased; yet, since it is a
crime to kill them, they wander about here
with the rest. But in these narrow streets,
forever crowded with humanity, such ani-
mals are horribly obnoxious, and the bulls
are often dangerous. So true is this that,
some years ago, the British authorities hit
ONE OF THE MAN“.
upon the scheme of kidnaping a few of
them at a time and turning them loose into the jungle. Once
there, they never returned; for Indian tigers, so far as heard
from, have no religious scruples about eating meat. It is not
enough, however, to let sacred animals stroll through the
streets and temples of Benares at their own sweet will—some
".‘O
00.
.1...
)‘B
SENSATION ROCK.

1P4’!
‘Iv
I’
fear
INDIA 89
of them even have sanctuaries of their own. We visited, for
example, what is called the Monkey Temple. It is a rather
handsome building of red sandstone, situated in a grove of
stately trees; yet this is the home and playground of five
hundred monkeys, all thought to be divine, since they are
representative of Hanuman, the monkey god. Attendants
sold us cakes and nuts with which to feed these apes, and
soon a mob of long-tailed, simian deities were gathered round
us. Whole families at a time were represented,-from old

asthmatic grand-
fathers, who
looked suffi-
ciently wise to
be the ancestors
of Darwin, down
to the younger
generations.who
seemed horribly
human as they
blinked their
eyes, fought and
chatter-ed for the A BRAHMIN AND HIS ATTENDANT.
sweetmeats, and pulled each other’s tails in a most ungodly


manner. The Hindus worship monkeys, and the Chinese eat
them. I hardly know, if I had to choose, which I should
prefer to do!
Heart-sick from an inspection of these temples we turned
to study a few of those who came to worship here. Despite
their personal unattractiveness, these people rivet attention
and awaken thought. They are a part of that vast caravan
which for at least thirty centuries has been marching with
unbroken ranks toward this mysterious river and its hallowed
shrines. It has been estimated that from three to five hun-
dred thousand people assemble annually at certain localities
90 IINIJICL
on the Ganges. The long procession never stops. Its com-
ing is as certain as the stream itself. Its individuals disappear
like bubbles on its
neither the ani-
sacred waves, but


mate nor the in-
animate cur’ h rent ever fails,
—one sweep-
itself in the
ing on to lose
boundless
sea, the other has-
tening to- ward that
shoreless oceanwhich
we call Eter- nity. These
pilgrims come from every
part of India, and include the
old and young, the .. rich and poor, the
strong and the infirm. ’‘ “N‘T‘c' Some, in this age of
progress, come by rail, packed, cattle-like, in third-class cars.
but many must still make the pilgrimage on foot, toiling for
months on dusty roads beneath a burning sun, and begging
by the way for sufficient rice and water to sustain them. Some
poor fanatics actually cover spaces of from five hundred to
seven hundred miles by marking off the distance with their
bodies on the
dusty ground, as

we would meas-
ure it with a five-
foot pole. Thou-
sands of aged
men and women
who start upon
this pilgrimage,
, V _ never see their
A FEW mourns TO THE canons. hom es agai n ;
but this to them is nothing, if they can only hold out long
enough to bathe their trembling limbs in the hallowed Ganges.


INDIA 91
Then they are satisfied to die. Formerly Hindu parents used
to throw their children into the river to propitiate its deity;
but this is now forbidden by the British Government.
\Ne saw at Benares one of the old cars of juggernaut. I
was surprised to find it a comparatively light vehicle; but I
was told that, when loaded with heavy idols and numerous
priests, it would quickly crush the life out of any victim who
cast himself beneath its wheels,—-a mode of suicide now pro-
hibited by the
English. The
one redeeming
feature in these
scenes of super-
stition and idol-
atry is the ter-

rible sincerity
behind themall.
Of course, there
are among these
people many
impostors, and

Hindu priests
are always trad_ A can 0F JL‘GGERNAUT.
ing on the fears and the ignorance of their deluded victims.

But where the hypocrites may number perhaps fifty thousand,
there are in India to-day one hundred and ninety million
Hindus, striving by tears and sweat and blood to win the
favor of their gods. Life is to them a desperate struggle to
escape from future suffering—a struggle as intense and agon-
izing as that by which a man, imprisoned in a railroad wreck,
endeavors to free himself from the approaching flames.
Nowhere on earth are such appalling sacrifices made by
religious devotees as in this valley of the Ganges. Some
stand for months and years with an extended arm until it
92 INDIA
withers and becomes immovable; others will clench the hand
until the nails grow through the flesh; some hang from hooks
inserted in their backs, or leap through sacrificial fires, while
others still live destitute and naked like wild beasts. A relig-
ious faith which
can inspire forti-
tude to endure
sufferings like
t h e s e , is , n o
doubt, cruel and
degrading; but
it is at least sin-
cere. Hence,
Hinduism is the

most important
fact the Govern-
ment of India
has to deal with;


v\ ~ ‘I?’ w - ./
"I "In "'1' "I “5 > . .- ‘ '
‘\Mfiwfil "(m - ‘M for It controls
SLAVBS OF SUPERSTITION. ,
dred million people in the most minute details of life.
I do not know of any race on earth which fills me with
such pity as this race of India. One hundred and fifty mill-
ions of them live in hovels. Thousands, no doubt, are always
suffering from the pangs of hunger. \Vith either too much
or too little rain, the lives of millions are endangered. In
1876, in spite of the expenditure by the British Government
of fifty-five million dollars, five million natives died in India
from famine, or more than the entire population of the State
of Pennsylvania. From carefully prepared statistics it is
estimated that in the district of Bengal thirteen millions are
always half-starved; and that in the whole of British India,
two-fifths of the people are fairly well off, two-fifths have to
struggle constantly for an existence, while the remaining one-
INDIA 95
fifth (at least fifty millions) are in a condition of chronic hun-
ger. But even worse than this appalling poverty of the body
is the thraldom of the soul. Nowhere else on earth does
there prevail such social tyranny as has existed here for more
than three thousand years, under the name of Caste. This is
a system so gigantic in extent, and so deeply rooted in the
prejudices of mankind, that now its code appears as insur-
mountable as the Himalayas and the dividing lines between
the various castes as pitiless as walls of fire. If there were
no other reason why the Hindu religion, as it exists, should
be condemned, the fact that it has created and maintains to-
day this monstrous system of oppression would be enough to
make it utterly alien to all the noblest instincts of the human
heart.
There are four principal castes in India, though these have
countless sub-

divisions. The
inventors of this
social despotism
were naturally
the highest in
the scale, - the
Brahmins. They
coolly tell the
rest of the world
that they sprang
originally from
the mouth of
Brahma, the Su-
. ~ - e -. ;-~ ‘
Preme Bemg-
~.-.w1fb-i.;.-.sv>ea.
Accordingly, no A PEAS-ANT.


matter whether they are rich or poor, no matter what may be
their occupation, the members of all other castes must yield
them homage and obedience. Formerly, whatever crimes
96 INDIA
they might commit, their personal property could not be
seized. Even now their persons are sacred. The Hindus
believe that if any one strikes a Brahmin, even with a blade
of grass, he will be punished by being an inferior animal for
the next twenty-one generations.
The other Hindu castes are, in the order of their rank, the
warrior class, the merchant class, and the servile class, spring-
ing respectively from Brahma's arms, thighs, and feet. Below

A VILLAGE SCENE-
them all are the degraded Pariahs, who are casteless, and are
regarded as almost too vile to belong to humanity. Can any-
thing be more discouraging than the hopelessness of this?
As one is born in India, so he dies. These class distinctions
are hereditary and inexorably fixed. No one can rise into a
higher rank. Once a Brahmin, one is always a Brahmin;
once a Pariah, always a Pariah.
Few foreigners have any idea how extremely rigid and severe
the rules of Indian caste can be. Nothing, for example,
would induce the poorest Hindu to eat roast beef with the

ONE OF THE LOWLY.
97
Empress of India her‘
self. He would believe
that by partaking of it
he would defile himself
for time and for eter-
nity. It is said that a
European, from motives
of revenge, once seized
and bound a wealthy
Brahmin, and, after a
desperate struggle,
forced some beef and
brandy down his throat.
As a result, although the
Hindu had been clearly
overpowered and made incapable of resistance, he was con-
sidered to be defiled, and lost his caste. Every effort was
made to reinstate him, but for years
in vain. Finally, after the payment
of one hundred thousand dollars, the
unfortunate man regained his caste,
although, in addition
to the fortune thus
expended, he was
obliged to submit to
physical penalties too
revolting to be men-
tioned. Lying, steal-
ing, fraud, and adul-
tery can be atoned for
in India without loss
of caste, but to eat of
the “ sacred cow” is
for the Hindu the
ONE OF THE BXAL'I'ED.


98 INDIA
unpardonable sin. Imagine, therefore, what would be the
feelings of a Hindu who visited the stock-yards in Chicago,
and saw an ox or a cow, to say nothing of other animals
slaughtered every minute! Nor will a high-caste person allow
one of low caste even to obtain water from his well. He
thinks that thus the well would be defiled. If he saw a
Pariah dying of starvation he would not go to his relief for
fear of contamination. The penalties for being thus contam-
inated are terrible. A man who has lost caste is the most
wretched of human beings. Even a Pariah is less pitiable.
His property is confiscated to the caste from which he has


been ostracized; 7 his children no
longer ac- knowledge
himas their

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INDIA IOI
father; his wife is freed from all her conjugal obligations; and
even his father and mother would refuse to eat with him or
to give him a morsel of food. Though the offense should
have been accidental, the penalty is just the same; for the
defilement has taken place, and cannot be effaced. Can we,
then, wonder that this system of caste has broken the spirit
of the people? The servile class will often ask a Brahmin to
wash his feet in the water of the street, that they may then


UP IN THE CLOUDS-
drink it. They take the ofttimes brutal treatment of Euro-
peans without resentment; and instances are known of natives
coming to their English masters, when they had a special
favor to ask, with grass in their mouths, saying that they
were their beasts. '
Only a few miles from Benares stands a ruined tower,
which marks the spot where twenty-five hundred years ago
Gautama Buddha led a revolt against this tyranny of the
Brahmins. He welcomed his disciples from all classes, ex-
claiming: “As the four rivers which flow into the Ganges lose
their names so soon as they have mingled with that holy
stream, so all who believe in Buddhism cease to be Brahmins,
102 INDIA
Pariahs, or Sudras, and become brothers.‘ He made religion
to consist of love and kindness to all living beings. All tests
of rank were merged by him into the one test of character.
Here, then, upon these plains of India, was fought out the

MARKET- PLACE, ‘DARJEELING.
great conflict between selfishness and love. Alas! the old,
deep-rooted despotism proved the stronger, and Buddha's
Christlike doctrine of the brotherhood of man was driven into
other lands. _
But interesting as all Indian cities are historically and
religiously, there came to us a time when we were glad to say
farewell to their tumultuous life and picturesque pageant of
idolatry; for we were eager to behold something as far re-
moved from all such scenes as heaven is high above the earth.
In fact, to go from the polluted Ganges at Benares up to its
crystal source in the Himalayan glaciers is to turn from
INDIA 103
pestilence to purity, from degradation to sublimity, from
man to God.
The Himalayas, as all know, are the loftiest range of
mountains on our globe, their name being derived from the
two Sanskrit words, Ilium, snow, and alaya, a house. Hence
the appropriate translation of their title is “The Halls of
Snow." On one of their foot-hills, three hundred and fifty
miles from Calcutta, and more than seven thousand feet
above the sea, is a grand point of observation, called Darjeel-
This is a pretty
ing, which signifies “Up in the clouds.’
little mountain Sanitarium, with many charming villas and a
good hotel. It is never entirely “out of season," for travel-
ers come to it in winter, as residents of Calcutta do in sum-

Bl'DDHIST PRIESTS WITH PRAYER-BELLS.
mer-the former to enjoy the wonderful view of the Hima-
layas, the latter to escape the fearful heat upon the Indian
plains; for here the temperature never rises above 78°, and
sometimes falls as low as 30°. The proximity to Thibet,
104 INDIA
which in an air-line is only one hundred and fifty miles away,
is shown by the Mongolian types of faces seen in the streets
and market-place. We noticed several Buddhist lamas from
Thibet, turning a kind of hand-bell, Within which is a roll

GOING TO DARJEELING-
of printed prayers. The revolution of the machine reels
off the prayers, without interfering in the least with the
holder's thoughts. Even this is deemed too laborious by
some Buddhists, and enormous cylinders, containing prayers
enough for a whole community, have been ingeniously con-
structed, so as to revolve by means of water-wheels or wind-
mills. One of these automatic prayer-barrels may be seen


A PEAK OF THE I-IIMALAYAS.




18414
.
-'
:d.
a’); t
INDIA 107
at Darjeeling, and a bell marks each revolution, as it turns
upon its axis.
The means of reaching Darjeeling is a tiny railroad, so
small as to be almost ludicrous. It is, in fact, but two feet
wide. Yet, narrow though it be, its length is more than fifty
miles and it winds up the mountain side in such a multitude
of twists and turns that the engineer in the locomotive can
sometimes hold a conversation with passengers in the rear car,
as across a narrow street. In one place, it describes the
figure eight within a length of about five hundred feet; and
several times, where loops are quite impossible, the engine

TH E LOOP.
has to draw the train up one incline and then push it back-
ward up another, thus working up the cliff in zigzags.
The railway carriages in which one makes this trip are as
extraordinary as the road itself. They are only nine feet
108 INDIA



ROUNDING A CURVE.
long and six feet high, and come to within nine inches of the
ground. Seated in one of these small boxes, while wriggling
up the mountain side and shaken violently every other minute
on the innumerable curves, I felt as I should suppose an insect
might feel riding on one of the rings of a rattlesnake’s tail.
To pull us up this steep ascent, our baby locomotive,
weighing only nine-and-a-half tons, toiled constantly for seven
hours; now straining every nerve in short, quick, agonizing
puffs, now halting as if breathless and exhausted; but finally,
conquering every obstacle, and glistening with oil, as if
drenched with perspiration, it turned triumphantly the last
and loftiest of countless corners, and reached the terminus—
Darjeeling. This is the spur of a mountain, which juts out
into space, as the promontory of Monaco projects into the
Mediterranean. One walks around it on a level path, as
on the parapet of an enormous citadel. On three sides,
INDIA
109
the bluff falls sharply off, much as it does
around the city of jerusalem; save that
in this case the descent is more precipi-
tous, and the surrounding chasms are two
thousand feet in depth.
Beyond the deep ravines, however, is
a range of mountains, nine, ten, and eleven
thousand feet in height, rolling away
like monstrous billows, which in-
crease in size until the wall of the
huge amphitheatre is complete. It
was shortly before sunrise on the
morning of the seventeenth of De-
cember, that I stood here waiting
for the couriers of the dawn to rouse
from dreams the sleeping Orient.
For me the moment was as full of
THE WITCH 0F DARJEELING.
promise as when I stood upon the North Cape, far above the
Arctic Ocean, and gazed out over the rounded shoulder of
the globe, to see the Midnight Sun.
At length, a hidden hand seemed to draw back the misty


110 INDIA

curtain of the night, permitting me to see what was beyond
the highest circle of the amphitheatre. Merciful God! was
this a revelation of the gates of pearl, the gleaming battle-
ments of the celestial city? Assuredly it seemed so; for
toward the north, dwarfing all lesser peaks into insignificance,
rose a stupen—
dous barrier
‘* Q
1&5)»
against the sky,
as if to indi-
cate the limits
of the world.
Though forty
IQ . i
- 1. “A, ~
> ' é‘
\ ,_
a‘ ‘c --
v- Q],
miles away, we
nevertheless
had to gaze up-
ward to behold
it. At first this
wall seem ed
ghostlike, in-
definable, and
mysterious; but
as I watched,
its crystal edge
was gradually
changed from
white togold. A
BUDDHIST PRIEST AND memes FROM mm. moment m Ore’
and as a blush overspreads a snow-white cheek, neck, and
breast, so did that roseate hue move swiftly downward to the
right and left, until the mighty form of Kinchinjinga, twenty-
nine thousand feet in height, stood absolutely rosy in the
morning glow. Then peak after peak, in the majestic order
of their heights, repeated this magnificent greeting to the
god of day. For more than a hundred miles, a line of walls,
INDIA III
towers, and buttresses-“yes, every form of architecture that
the mind can possibly conceive—stood out in gold and silver
on a sky of sapphire; while lower still, and leading upward to
the Halls of Snow, a host of glaciers rose like jeweled high-
ways of the gods. The highest of
these peaks is . .- ' - -. Kinchinjinga,


for many years sup-
the loftiest
globe. It is now
posed to be
A STUPENDOUS BARRIER.
mountain on our
known to be surpassed by one more distant summit—Mount
Everest. which rears its icy crest eight hundred and forty-
six feet higher than its rival. This is, however, difficult to
see, and practically impossible to illustrate, being one hun-
dred and twenty miles away. But Kinchinjinga is the glory
of Darjeeling, the representative of the Himalayas, the viceroy
of Mount Everest, the chosen form in which these mountains
112 INDIA
show themselves to man. No life exists upon these awful
heights. No human voice disturbs their solemn stillness.
No foot of man has ever pressed these pure and radiant
summits. The highest pass by which men go at times from
India to Thibet
is only eighteen
thousand feet in
height, leaving
two miles of ice
and snow still
towering toward
the sun and stars.
Forever virgin to
the touch of man,
these highest
points of our re-
volving globe re-
main as chaste
and unapproach-
able as the moon,
nearer than and
yet as inaccessible
as the North Pole.
That evening,
about six o'clock,
I stood again on
the promontory

of Darjeeling.
A CELESTIAI. VISION.
Enormous clouds
(themselves as large as mountains changed to mist) were drift-
ing through the amphitheatre. But far above the lesser moun-
tains which they half concealed, we could gaze upward into
the empyrean itself,—calm, cloudless, and eternal. There in
ineffable glory rose the vast chain of the Himalayas, illumined
INDIA II3
by the setting sun. This in itself was wonderful. But, grad-
ually, as the shades of coming night crept upward from the
valleys, these wondrous peaks appeared detached from earth,
_belonging to another world,—holding communication
with another sphere. We gazed on them with bated breath.
Silence was golden; speech would have been sacrilege. For
more than an hour did this celestial vision linger, so high did
these transcendent summits rise toward heaven, and so far-
reaching were their glances toward the radiant west. Even
when Darjeeling and its ramparts were completely lost in
darkness, the benediction of departing day still rested lovingly
upon that loftiest crest—a cloud of roseate fire in the dome
of Night—until the ultimate farewell was given,—the veil
was drawn,-—and I awoke as from a dream.

INDIA




l


. I'I‘l‘ ‘
‘Ii
a’
‘ 'l
“1,3 . . . .,
_“_— " I I:
I .' I
LECTURE II
NDIA is in some respects the most difficult country in
the world to understand.
One thinks of it at times as
one great nation, governed, it is true, by England, but
still constituting one homo-
geneous people. Nothing is
further from the truth. It
is a vast conglomeration of
principalities and races, in
some instances as different
from each other as is France
from Germany. The natives
do not even speak a com-
mon tongue. There are in
India no less than two hun-
dred distinct dialects, each
unintelligible to speakers of
any of the others; while, as
if this were not enough, the
people of the same commun-
ity are subdivided into castes
which will not even eat with
one another.

A MOHAMMEDAN.
And how appalling is their number—three
hundred millions,—nearly one-fifth of the entire race, and
I18 INDIA
double the population of the .Roman Empire when its extent
was greatest! The amount of territory occupied by these
millions is enormous. The province of Lower Bengal is as
large as France; that of Madras exceeds Great Britain and
Ireland; that of Bombay equals Germany in area; and the
size of the Punjab rivals that of Italy.
To comprehend the heterogeneous mass inhabiting India
appears at first as difficult as to explore an Indian jungle; but

9‘ ' T i ' P 77,-’:


THE HUGLI RIVER.
there is one trusty clue to guide us through the labyrinth,—
Religion. This will explain to us the customs of that land as
nothing else can; for all these millions are so superstitious and
fanatical that feelings of incredible intensity control their con-
duct from the cradle to the grave. After Hinduism, the sec-
ond great religion which prevails in India is Mohammedanism.
Nineteen out of every twenty people in India are either Hin-
dus or Mohammedans. Victoria, Empress of India, has more
Moslem subjects than the Sultan himself. There are no less
than fifty-seven millions of them, or more than the entire
Japanese nation. Their wealth and power,‘it is true, have
INDIA n9
largely disappeared; but in the places where the Moslem
crescent reached the zenith of its glory their splendid archi-
tectural remains rival in elegance and grace the finest forms of
Gothic or of Grecian art, and in themselves repay a journey
around the world.
The gateway to India on its eastern coast is Calcutta, the
rival of Bombay. As we approached it, the multitude of
ships and steamers on the river Hugli exceeded anything that
I had ever seen. For several miles we sailed past vessels of
the largest size, frequently anchored five abreast. I was in-
formed that one of these ships had just brought from England
a hundred and twenty tons of gin and forty tons of Bibles.
If this proportion is maintained on all of them, we may dis-
cover why the advent here of Christian nations is not regarded
by the natives as an unmixed blessing. It is, however,
probable that the gin is chiefly intended for the Europeans,
while the poor heathen have to take the Bibles.
Unlike most Indian cities, Calcutta offers very little of his-
toric interest. Two hundred years ago it was a cluster of
mud huts. To-day, by reason of some handsome structures,
such as its Post-office, it is proudly called- the “City of Pal-


A NATIVE PALACE.
120 INDIA
aces." Unfortunately, however, hovels are still so numer-
ous that I believe no other town in India reveals in such

immediate con-
trast the two
extremes of
British wealth
and native deg-
radation. In
what may be
called Angli-
cized Calcutta
are broad streets
lined with stat-
0N1: MAID. V T I’ T if ues and impos-


ing buildings. The latter, being constructed of brick cov-
ered with painted stucco, are as a rule inferior to the public
edifices of Bombay which are built of stone; nevertheless
their size often ,,
renders them "
quite palatial in
appearance.
The favorite
promenade of
Calcutta, known
as Maidan, ex-
tends for more
than two miles
on the river-
bank, and is as
level as a parlor

floor. Broad
ANGUCIZED CALCU'ITA .
carriage-roads
wind over it between expanses of soft turf and through a
multitude of tropical plants. During the day its famous
INDIA 121
driveways are almost deserted. For while the sun retains it
in his fiery grasp all Europeans shun it like a heated oven.
Occasional stat-

ues of distin-
guished Eng-
lishmen then
seem to be its
only occupants.
But when the
solar shafts fall
on this prome-
nade obliquely,
and pierce with
difficulty, if at
all, the droop-


A CALCUTTA STREET.
ing fringes of the palms, the British colony appears as if by
magic, invading the vast area from all directions, much as the
chorus of an opera troupe pours in upon an empty stage.
Between five and seven o'clock the spectacle here displayed
is rarely, if ever,
equaled in the
world. While
military music
stirs the balmy
air, one sees along
these avenues the
most astonishing
varieties of cos-
tumes and com-
plexions. Even


the simplest car-
A CALCUT'I'A "mznmc."
riage of an Eng-
lish family will have its native coachman robed in white from
head to foot and a dark groom resplendent in huge colored
122 INDIA


turban and gold-embroidered jacket; and these, with Indian
princes, wealthy Parsees, and rich Hindus, give to the scene
a touch of Oriental splendor.
But, while the English in India are prudent
r enough to avoid the parks in the middle of
the day, they have decided, absurdly enough,
that the fashionable
time for making calls
shall be from twelve
to two. One wretched
victim of this social
tyranny recently de-
fined these Indian
morning-calls as
"The destruction that
wasteth at noonday."
We could not won-
der that the English
who reside in India look on Calcutta in the winter as an
Eastern Paradise. It is, indeed, the centre of the Govern-
DRESSED FOR WORK .
ment, and here the Governor-general of India holds a court,
said to surpass in brilliancy that of most European sovereigns.
At Christmas time, especially, the town is thronged with offi-
cers of the army and navy and all the notable men in Eng-
land’s Indian service.
Then, also, hundreds of visitors from Europe, America,
and Australia constitute a most distinguished and enjoyable
society. But this is only one side of Calcutta. The native
side is very different. The former is, of course, more agree-
able to the English, and is the one more frequently de-
scribed by travelers. But we all know what Europeans are
like. The question is, what do the natives resemble? For,
in India, where the foreigners number about one hundred
thousand, the natives reach a population of three hundred
INDIA 123
millions. They are very easily studied at Calcutta, for at
almost any point a short walk brings one from public build-
ings and spacious thoroughfares to the disgusting filth and
poverty of the common Hindus. Most of the native streets
are dirty alleys; most of their dwellings, hovels made of sun-
dried mud or of bamboo poles covered with coarse matting.
The occupants, in many instances, have their well-nigh naked
bodies greased with rancid butter (which they consume inter-
nally as well), and even their hair is smeared with the same
mixture. The pungent odor of this lubricant, combined with
the smoke of burned manure, which is the fuel of India, gave
to the atmosphere a peculiar quality which I shall always
associate with Hindustan.
Some of the natives—tailors and Cobblers—we found hard
at work, seated in holes in a plastered wall, like dogs in their
kennels. Even
the splendor of
the Mogul pal-
aces which we
afterward beheld
could not make
me forget this
misery and deg-
radation. India
is a land of ter-
rible extremes.
Whatever is good
there is superla-
tively good, and
what is bad can __
THE NATIVE QUARTER.
ined worse. Thus, in the matter of hotels, the very best in

Calcutta is the Great Eastern; but it is my deliberate convic-
tion, based upon an experience of many never-to-be-forgotten
124 INDIA
days and nights, that, whereas, all the hotels in India are'
bad, those of Calcutta are worse than those of any city of
its size and prominence in any country of the civilized world.
It is true, the Great Eastern is well situated, and covers a
great area; but in this case, “O, what a goodly outside false-
hood hath!H
My traveling companion and myself, having telegraphed
in advance, were assigned to a room on the best floor of the
hotel. We reached it by a long, dark corridor about four
feet wide. This
space was made
still smaller by
a line of Hindu
servants who
were lying on
the floor—one
in front of each
door. Through
these we picked
our way to room
54-
I give the num-
V _ ber, not that the
LIKE DOGS IN THEIR KENNELS. Header may Spe_

I‘ "
number
cially avoid it when he goes there (since most of the other
rooms are equally bad), but that, on seeing it, he may
remember me and murmur: “There was a man who told the
truth." The walls of this room did not come within two
feet of the ceiling, and, as most 'of ‘the other apartments were
equally well ventilated, we assisted by day at half a dozen
family quarrels, and at night could hear the whole brigade
of Hindus snoring in the corridor. The Oriental way of
calling servants is by clapping the hands. This is occasionally
inconvenient; for in a room next to mine was a refractory
INDIA 127
child, and every time his mother spanked him all the servants
in the entry responded to the call. v
Number “ 54" was a whitewashed cell with very primitive
furniture, and with the filthiest piece of straw matting that I
ever saw, until, on a subsequent visit to Calcutta, I had room
number “77,” in which was a still worse specimen. I picked
my way about on both of them, much as a lady crosses a
muddy street.
Summoning our Indian servant, we asked him to unpack
the sheets, wad-

ded quilts, pil-
low-cases, and
towels which
every traveler
who respects
himself will
carry with him
through the In-
dian Empire;
but, on turning
to inspect my
bed, I found that
two black crows


were perched
u p O n it , l k 3 THE GREAT EASTERN HOTEL.
Poe’s raven on the “ bust of Pallas, just above my chamber
1
door.’ Apparently, too, they were determined to leave it
“nevermore; " for they were as tenacious of their temporary
home as Irish peasants resisting an eviction. \Vhen they had
finally flown away through an open window, I requested that
the solitary piece of linen which adorned the couch be re-
moved. Presently, hearing a cooing noise, I looked up
toward the ceiling and saw a nest of pigeons in a hole in
the wall. Dirt and straw had fallen from this upon my coat
128 INDIA
hanging on a chair beneath; and an indifferent servant, sum-
moned in hot haste, at length deliberately climbed a ladder,
removed the nest, and stuffed the hole with a newspaper!
Such was my room in the best hotel in the capital of Eng-
land’s Indian Empire.


NATIVE LIFE.
On entering the dining-room of the Great Eastern, we
found that behind the chair of each guest stood his private
servant or “boy.” The sight of these bare-footed, white-
robed Hindus running about in quest of food, suggested to
me a panic-stricken crowd of colored people rushing from
INDIA 129
their beds at night. When coffee was served at dinner, we
could at first obtain no sugar with it, for sugar is not served
in bowls upon
the table, lest
the famished
natives empty it

into their pock-
ets. A little of
it is brought in
a wine-glass to
each guest, who
is also allowed
_ p but one spoon.
“no. 54-“ I As each servant


is responsible for his master's spoon, I saw my attendant,
between each course, wipe mine on a napkin when he thought
he was observed—otherwise, on his clothing! Even then,
there were not

F
spoons enough
to go around,
and we amused
ourselves by
watching three
or four Hindus
struggle for one,

and we made
bets as to which
would carry off
the prize.
Where the
imposing Post- -
THE POST-OFFICE, CALCL'TI'A.
cutta now stands took place, in 1756, the tragedy of the
“Black Hole of Calcutta.” The prison itself, known as the


“Black Hole,H
together with
the fort of which
it formed a part,
has long since
disappeared;
but throughout
the English-
speaking world,
its name is still
suggestive of
atrocious cruel-
ty. When the
fortress of Cal-
A MOUNTAIN SANITARI'UM, NORTH OF CALCUTI‘A. Cutta was cap-

tured from the English by the Indian prince, Suraj-al-Dowlah,
and a horde of natives, the survivors of the garrison, num-
bering one hundred and forty-six men, were locked up for the
night in a room

only eighteen
feet square and
containing but
one small win-
dow. It was
the month of
June, when in
Calcutta the
heat is, under

the most favor-
able circum-
stances, almost
unendurable for
Europeans. In

VEIIII the SIIHCF- RELIGIOUS ABLUTION.
INDIA I31
ers, who were crowded so closely together that they could
scarcely move, implored their jailers to release them, promis-
ing them any amount of money in return for liberty. The
natives, jeering at their anguish, remained obdurate, and when
the dawn revealed the terrible result of those long hours of
maddening heat, intolerable thirst, and slow asphyxiation,
' .55 >
{)6 f“ '


THE KING OF BEASTS IN INDIA.
one hundred and twenty-three were dead, and twenty-three
pale, haggard men stood raving with delirium or faintly gasp-
ing at the window, standing, as on a mound, upon the corpses
of their comrades.
One of our first walks in Calcutta was to the river Hugli,
in whose waters a multitude of Hindus were bathing, much
as we had seen them at Benares. Here, as there, bath-
ing is a religious duty, and prayers are uttered after each
I32 INDIA
ablution. On the bank were
many individuals who had been
brought here to die; for this
river, being one of the mouths
of the Ganges, is sacred, and to
expire here insures one’s en-
trance into heaven. I was
astonished and saddened to find
that many of the disgusting
features of Hindu idolatry and
superstition are as prevalent in
Calcutta as in the cities of the
interior. We visited, for exam-

ple, close by the river, a Hindu
temple, known as Kalighat, and
A RETIRED THUG-
there beheld more loathsome sights than any which we had
witnessed at Benares. The Goddess Kali, who is worshiped
here by hundreds of thousands of people yearly, is repre-
sented by a hideous idol, with human skulls around her neck
and with a mouth apparently reeking with clots of blood.
A draught of
warm human
blood is be-
lieved to make

her happy for a
thousand years.
Here in a court_
yard, slippery
with gore, we
saw a sacrifice
of kid s a n d
goats which are
slain every day


t0 aPP€ElS€ thfi KALIGHAT.
INDIA 133
deity. The victims’ heads lay about the altar like croquet
balls round a finishing stake, and priests, degraded in appear-
ance, offered for a fee to make more sacrifices merely as a
spectacle. It should be remembered that this is not an
obscure and unimportant temple of Calcutta: on the con-
trary, it is the most popular Hindu shrine in the city, and the
very name Calcutta is derived from Kalighat.

A GROUP OF HINDUS.
Moreover, the goddess Kali was the special patroness of
the Thugs, the professional Stranglers of India, who for
many years committed murders here in the name of religion.
These fanatical assassins used to roam about the country in
bands of from ten to two hundred. Each man had a special
duty to perform; one was the leader; others were scouts;
some were pick-bearers; others were grave-diggers. Dis-
guised as pilgrims or merchants, they would associate them-
selves with their intended victims in the most friendly style
until a favorable opportunity presented itself. Then they
134 INDIA
would suddenly seize and strangle the doomed men, and hide
their bodies in graves dug with pickaxes which had been
previously blessed by the priests, and were symbolical of the
teeth of Kali. Two-thirds of the booty thus obtained was
divided among the murderers, and the remainder given to the
goddess. Even now, although the British Government has
suppressed the Thugs, the Temple of Kali is as popular as
ever, and hundreds of thousands still worship at her shrine.
Within the precincts of this temple we beheld several
specimens of In- dian fakirs, each of


whom seemed a combination


of beggar, fanatic, im-
postor,and political
spy. Ina disgust-
ing area, resem-
bling a garbage
heap, a score of
these men I were seat-
ed,entirely if naked, up-
- f7 of ashes, in
_/ rolled repeat-
on a mound
which they \ .
edly. Not con-
1.
\_ .___ j" tent with the re-
\ I __
sults thus gained, they even rubbed
the dirt all over their A “*“R- bodies, which had
been previously greased in order to retain it. Their hair,
matted with filth, reached nearly to their waists, and was
painted yellow, and on this they threw occasional handfuls of
dust and ashes. Yet when a few of them followed us into the
street asking for money, they seemed to attract no attention,
although they ran along beside our horse-car, in which were
several European women and children. A sickening feeling,
similar to that which I had felt in Canton, came over me at
the sight of this human degradation; especially when I re-
membered that there are in India more than a million of
..~ .. .. .. - .ozfiiw .Eeoo @507:



INDIA I37
these half-crazed mendicants and frauds, who are revered and
almost worshiped by multitudes of men and women, who will
actually stoop and kiss their feet.
It is no wonder, therefore, that after such experiences. for-
getful for a moment of the agreeable features of India, the
following lines were, in an hour of reaction, inscribed in the
author's diary:



THE GREAT BANYAN TREE.
A WAIL FROM INDIA’S CORAL STRAND.
I 'm weary of the loin-cloth,
And tired of naked skins;
I‘m sick of filthy, knarish priests
Who trade in human sins:
These millions of the great unwashed
Offend both eye and nose;
I long for legs in pantaloons
And feet concealed in hose.
A wail of human misery
ls ringing in my ears;
The sight of utter wretchedness
Has filled my eyes with tears;
The myriad huts of mud and straw
Where millions toil and die
Are blots upon this fertile land
Beneath an Orient sky.
138 INDIA
I’m weary of the nasal rings
And juice-discolored lips;
I cannot bear these brown-skinned brats
Astride their mothers’ hips;
I loathe the spindling Hindu shanks
With dirt encrusted hard;
I’m nauseated by the hair
That reeks of rancid lard.
I’ll ride no more in little cabs
That serve as railroad-cars,
Each barely twenty feet in length
And swayed by countless jars;
My bones are racked by traveling
In India’s jerky way:
Far better weeks in Pullman cars
Than one night in Cathay!
I ’m sick at heart (and stomach too)
Of lndia’s vile hotels, .
Whose rooms are drearier and less clean
Than many prison cells;
Where servants swarm like cockroaches
Yet nothing can be bad,
And where your private “boy” alone
Prevents your going mad.
I ’m weary of the sun-hats too
Like toad-stools made of pith;
I ’m sick of Buddha’s “sacred tooth”
And every other myth.
Good-bye to whining mendicants
Who show their loathsome sores!—
I ’m glad to take the steamer now,
And sail for other shores.
It was with great relief that we left Kalighat and its hor-
rors, and made our way to the Botanical Garden, in the
suburbs of Calcutta, to view its celebrated banyan tree, the
largest in the world. Who can forget this marvelous phe-
nomenon, which furnished one of the illustrations in our
school-books twenty-five years ago? It looked larger than I
expected; though I should have remembered that it is steadily
INDIA I39
increasing, year by year, for its vitality seems to rival that of
the earth itself. The circumference of its outer tendrils now
sweeps through a cir-

cuit of one thousand
, 0-‘ ‘ CY I
feet! ‘o’ - ~
. ‘J'ry'i' 1
Not without awe = . , I" a 1-".18‘3
. I I ..' ’_ "be .- I'I * r: Clld e a oa h and 'I < I I?" ,~ .14. “ fib- ‘ <-
W PPr C h..- i-
Y‘
W . -, .J . ' — -.' ‘l “is _r 7} LP‘- I‘
stand beneath its e'i"*"x'Y"'-A ' i ' - I
' “i‘i
‘, ,1
r III II
VT I I"_ @
mighty roof. Though * s ,iifit’ . a???
the main trunk is f i1» _ a A...‘ I
I I "I ‘."I ,‘ :_\_ , ‘ ‘ ‘ .
ri- Y '2.‘ "" 1* i . - .j
4-’
D.
~' l4. 2!
/
fifty feet In CII’CUm- v , I‘, w _ __ ' Jam-3;‘; g,‘ _'_-
. 4 Q.‘ Q ,~ I’ r " _. ' '
ference, It was not a 'i‘ 7 wii ‘Me’
that which most as- A mum BAM'AN'
tonished me. What filled me with amazement was its hori-
zontal branches, stretching out on every side for more than
one hundred and fifty feet. These drop to the ground hun-
dreds of tiny filaments, which, taking root, become themselves
subordinate trees, send up nourishment to the parent stock,
hold up its sturdy limbs, and allow them to advance till they
can let fall other grappling-irons to the earth and put forth

L L3: new leaves to
' the sun. We
v ..-..-.-- I walked beneath
my-
I‘; ~ '- . "r. h ~_
“In-‘w; '5—-»-_-__-_-’_-_ E? I‘ '
I‘ , II ) I _' - I. ‘a - - _, ' ,- > - - I
.' ‘I ' ’- h ' “ ‘_ ' ' : ...
I . ’ I
l i , ,y ' I I ‘
' .I .i .- - H, . g .. I,‘
.1 , 'I “ ‘- I ‘ ' I i ‘
\ i I a 1' v i I "I ' i r i i
I) ~ ‘ p ,I { I j
V
i

this banyan tree


as in a grove,
and,sittingwith-
in its shade on
benches placed
for weary trav-
elers, admired
v _ j g _ this marvelous
i growth, which,
nevertheless, seems here so natural and easy that we invol-
untarily asked ourselves why other trees do not adopt this
140 INDIA
system of indefinite expansion,—this secret of arboreal im-
mortality.
As we were returning from the Botanical Garden, we met
two natives carrying, in a kind of sling suspended from a pole,
the body of a man.
“Where are they taking him?" I asked.
“To the river Hugli,” was the reply.
“Is he dead?"
“Not yet; but he will die soon, and they are anxious that
he may expire beside the sacred stream.H
“What will become of his body then?"
“It will be cremated at the Burning Ghat."
“Let us go thither! ” I exclaimed.
On reaching it, we were introduced to its Hindu superin-
tendent, who is appointed by the English Government to
examine all bodies
brought there, to

ascertain the cause
of death and to in-
form the police if
he has reason to
suspect a murder.
Cremation is one of
the characteristic
features, not only
of Calcutta, but of
the whole of India,
and in such an over‘


.. r populated and un-
UNDER THE BANYAN men. healthy land it is
almost a necessity. What I object to, therefore, is not the
act itself, but the coarse, brutal way in which it is usually
performed.
The enclosure of the Burning Ghat is an ill-kept, dirty
INDIA 141
area, bounded on one side by a grimy portico. In this we
stood to watch the ceremonies. At one end was a kind of
cattle-pen, where mourners wait until a vacant space for burn-
ing can be given them. I think I can say without much ex-
aggeration that
any respectable
dog would, after
taking one look
at that wait-
ing-room, have
walked out im-
mediately.
Three cool-
ies, whose oily
skin glistened
in the sun, at
IN THE BURNING GHAT.
length brought
in a body on a bamboo litter. This they let fall upon the
ground with the same care that an American “baggage-
smasher" shows in handling a trunk. By walking ten feet
‘farther, they could, at least, have laid it in the shade: instead
of that they left it in the broiling sun. The superintendent
asked some questions, and then informed us that the corpse
was that of a man who had died half an hour before of
rheumatism.
We did not have to wait long for the cremation. \Nithout
delay the coolies brought in ten or a dozen logs of wood about
four feet in length, and threw them down close to the body.
So roughly was this done that some of the sticks bounded six
inches from the ground, and I fully expected to see them
strike the corpse. Wood is the most expensive factor in this
system of cremation. A funeral with the amount of kindling
here described costs a dollar; children half-price. Yet even
this is not the cheapest method. Sometimes less wood is


142 INDIA


used. In such cases the body is not entirely consumed, and
the remnants must be buried. Formerly they were thrown
into the river
among the bath-
ers, but this is
now prohibited.
The funeral-
pyre, when con-
structed, formed

a pile of logs, ar-
WAITING FOR WOOD-
ranged in cross-
tiers. On this the body was laid, its only covering being a
bit of cotton. I could see plainly that the limbs were not
yet rigid, nor had the eyes been closed. To make up for the
shortness of the pyre the legs were bent back at the knees.
Another layer of sticks was then placed upon the body to
keep it in position. All was now ready for the burning. It
is the Hindu custom for the nearest male relative to light the
fire, and in this DEW
>91]

instance a son
of the deceased,
about sixteen
' ,1‘; ,' ,‘é‘
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l
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T'
years of age, took


up some wisps
of straw, and
aided by his lit-
tle brother six
years old, walked
around the pile
of wood, lighting
the kindling on
READY TO LIGHT THE WRE-
every side. This
was not done, however, with solemnity or the least emotion.
The other relatives looked on as listlessly as if they were
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INDIA .45
assisting at a bonfire, and called out to the son to light it
better here or there. A priest was meanwhile mumbling over
something like a prayer, but no one paid him the least atten-
tion, and two of the body-bearers laughed and talked so
boisterously as to drown his voice. “Are the bodies of wealthy
Hindus burned in this filthy area?" I inquired.
“Yes," was '
the reply: “ but
their pyres us-
ually contain
more or less san-
dal-wood and
spices, and large
fees are then de-
manded by the
assistants."
I have dwelt
thus on the Hin-
du system of
cremation, not
only because it
made upon me
a profound im-
pression, but
also from the
fact that it is
typical of what
is going on all over India. Thousands are burned somewhere

ARRANGING THE BODY.
in these densely populated provinces every day, and nothing
is more strikingly illustrative of Hindu customs. But, as
performed here, cremation lacks all delicacy and solemnity,
and the last crematory act that I beheld was as revolting as
the first.
One of the most remarkable and interesting cities of India
INDIA
is Delhi. In
point of age it
challenges com-
parison with Be-
nares. It ante-
dates by many
centuries the
Rome of Rom-
ulus. It is p0-
etically called
the “Rome of
Asia." It has
been seven times
ruined and re-
built. The des-
olate plain surrounding it resembles the Campagna. Through-
out an area of twenty-four square miles are strewn the frag-
ments of the city's former grandeur. Much of its past is too
indefinite to ap-
peal to us; but
there is one mag-
nificent epoch in
its history, only
three hundred
years ago, which
gives to it a fas-
cination rarely
equaled even in
the Orient. For
Delhi was the
capital of India’s
Mohammedan
conquerors,—
thefavorite home

A RUIN NEAR DELI-II.
INDIA 147
of those incomparably rich and lavish sovereigns, the Great
Moguls.
Perhaps the reader may here knit his brow and say below
his breath, “\Vho were the Great Moguls?" For, owing to the
busy lives that we have led since leaving school and college,
we possibly remember of them now only what Thomas Moore
told us in his poem “Lalla Rookh." Few things are easier
to remember, however, than an outline of the Mogul Em-
pire. Only three great heroes in that dynasty need to
be recal1ed,—Baber, the Founder; Akbar, the Ruler; and
Shah jehan, the Builder. No matter for the others. These
names are like the three stars in Orion’s belt. Who, save
astronomers, ever care to trace the rest of that great constella-
tion in the vault of night? Baber, who was born almost con-
temporaneously with the discovery of America by Columbus,
invaded and conquered a large part of India in 1525. His
throne was the saddle, his canopy the sky. He was a Moham-
medan,—a true specimen of those followers of the Prophet
who had already built the Mosque of Cordova in Spain, wrested
from Christian hands the sepulchre of jesus, and placed the
crescent on 7 the dome of


AN ANCIENT FORTRESS. ‘~ is. '

148 INDIA
in Stamboul. He would have been remarkable in any age,
for with the talents of a warrior and administrator he com-
bined fondness for literature, music, and architecture. He
even wrote his own biography in memoirs which have recently
been translated into English. They are extremely interesting,

‘
THE MAUSOLEUM OF AKBAR.
for in them Baber tells without restraint the secrets of his
heart. The grandson of this conqueror was Akbar, one of
the most successful men that ever occupied a throne. A
study of his life astonished me. His was the task not merely
to extend his Indian Empire, but to unite the various nation-
alities of which it was composed. This he accomplished
grandly, and, though he was a contemporary of Queen Eliza-
beth and Henry IV, the romantic story of his victories, his
statesmanship, and private life, reads like the history of Julius
Caesar. He was a handsome man, famed for his physical
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INDIA 151
'- The tomb of Akbar,
strength and captivating manners. He was affectionate and
loyal to his friends, and ready to forgive his enemies; yet
was a most successful warrior and a determined ruler. His
breadth of mind was extraordinary. Although born and
bred a Moslem, he nevertheless employed, without distinc-
tion, both Hindus and Mohammedans, and had among his
friends the followers of Brahma. Buddha, Zoroaster, and Jesus.
His motto was: “There is good in every creed. Let us
adopt what is good and discard the remainder.
When he was dead, men realized with astonishment that
7!
during his long reign of forty-
nine years India had been exempt


from foreign invasions, that uni-
versal peace had been established,
and that the men of every
sect had lived and wor-
shiped in security.
fifteen miles from Agra,
is a noble edifice of
richly - tinted sandstone
and white marble, com~
bining beauty, strength,
and majesty. This was,
in fact, the style of archi-
tecture that Akbar loved .
For, in addition to all
else, this emperor built
the most imposing struc-
tures to be found in In-
dia. Not the most beau-
tiful structures: that was
the work of Shah Jehan,
the builder of the Taj
OLD INDIAN SHRINES,
152 INDIA
Mahal. The warlike Akbar built gigantic fortresses. His
grandson reared within them the most elaborate palaces
this earth has seen. One worked in granite, the other in
alabaster;—

‘4"’.
the genius of
the first was
akin to that of
Michelangelo;
that of the sec-
ond possessed
,u .l
>._...

the inspiration

of a Raphael.
On the fifth
and loftiest

story of this
mausoleum

stands the cen-‘
otaph of Akbar,
his body being
as usual buried

in the crypt
mm or THE APPROACHES TO AKBAR'S MAUSOLEUM. b 61 O w. T h is


upper story is a courtyard of white marble. In the centre (its
only canopy the sapphire sky) is a sarcophagus of alabaster,
richly carved and bearing an appropriate epitaph. Three feet
from this rises a marble pedestal, in the top of which is a
slight cavity. It gave me an idea of the magnificence of
those old days that I had never grasped before, to learn that
here, so far above the usual sight of men, once rested that
most famous jewel in the world,— the Kohinoor diamond;
now in the possession of one, who, though she has never set
foot in India, is, nevertheless, the present Empress of the
Mogul Empire — Queen Victoria.
To appreciate the third great monarch of the Mogul
INDIA [53
Empire, Shah Jehan. one must inspect the palace built by
him at Delhi. \Vhen I first stepped within the audience-
chamber of the Grand Moguls, it seemed to me that all I had
read and heard of it had given me no idea of its amazing
richness. It so exceeded all my expectations that the result
was just the same as if I had not known that such enchanting
dreams of Eastern architects had ever been materialized in
stone. Here are long corridors and rooms which are not
merely paved, roofed, and lined with purest marble; that
marble itself is covered with

sculptures in relief until each
block becomes a masterpiece
of art. Nor is this all, for,
spreading over the pave-
ment, twined about the col-
umns, and sparkling on the
ceilings, are variously col-
ored vines, leaves, and
flowers. “Are these walls
painted, then?" one natural-
ly inquires. Far from it.
This decoration is obtained
by means of precious stones,
inlaid like Florentine mosaic.
Yes, in this palace there are
miles of garlands, wreaths,
and tendrils, growing appar-
ently in great luxuriance, yet
actually composed of jasper,

agate, onyx, goldstone,
and carnelian, with here and

THE C ENOTAPH.
there inscriptions from the Koran, all outlined in mosaic on a
background as white as snow.
Set in the walls are graceful pockets, such as we see in
154 INDIA
the courts of the Alhambra, in which the veiled and jeweled
ladies of the palace kept their slippers or their gems. Here
in the softened light I could have easily fancied that my out-
stretched hand might pluck bouquets of roses and camellias.
But in reality, the trellises on which they grew were marble
screens, and the green leaves and ruby petals of the flowers
on these walls glowed in precious stones.

THE MOGUL PALACE AT DELHI.
No words are adequate to portray this sculptured loveli-
ness. Hence, let me ask you to assist me. You have,
perhaps a piece of Florentine mosaic which you treasure as a
brooch or paper-weight. Expand that into a panel set in an
alabaster wall, or into a stately column brilliant as a prism.
In your home there is, perhaps, a Persian rug whose colors
you admire. Transform that into a mosaic, and with it pave
the floor or decorate the roof. Again, you have a bit of Chi-
nese ivory elaborately carved. Magnify that till it forms a mile
of marble balustrades. Now multiply these panels, prisms,
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INDIA I57
rugs, and screens
and having made
of them a fairy
palace, delicate
as frost-work,
insert within its
walls a million
glittering gems;
then, as you gaze
enraptured at
your workman-
ship, murmur to
yourself, HThis
is a little like
the palace of the
Grand Moguls!"
Yet what once existed here was vastly richer and more elegant

jEIWELED WALLS.
than what is visible to-day. We saw, for example, the corner
of an alabaster
pedestal,—all
that is left now of
the famous“Pea-
cock Throne,
on which the
Mogul emperor
9|
sat in majesty.
That throne was
one of the mar-
vels of the world.
It was made by
order of Shah
Jehan, whose
jewelers labored

FLOWERS IN PRECIOUS STONES. for S6V€n y€3IS
158 INDIA
in its decoration. Its value was no less than thirty million
Its framework was of solid gold, encrusted with
innumerable precious stones.
dollars.
Above it stretched a golden
canopy fringed with pearls. The back was made to represent
two jeweled peacocks with expanded tails, whose colors were
reproduced by means of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and dia-
monds; while, to crown all, upon the top of this imperial
seat was perched a parrot carved from a single emerald.
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We cannot wonder, therefore, that upon these walls was
traced in exquisite mosaic a Persian verse whose meaning is
as follows:—
“ If there be a paradise on earth, it is here.”
One is, of course, reminded by this of Moore's rendition
of it in his poem, “ Lalla Rookh," when he causes one of the
inmates of this palace to sing:—-
“ Come hither, come hither—by night and by day
We linger in pleasures that never are gone;
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away
Another as sweet and as shining comes on.
And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth
To a new one as warm, as unequall’d in bliss;
And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this."
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I59
But, alas! there
is no Elysium
on earth. This
certainly was far
from being one.
Even its build-
er, Shah Jehan
(dethroned by
his ungrateful
son), was not
allowed to oc-
cupy it; and
after he, the
last of the i1-
lustrious three,

PEDESTAL OF THE PEACOCK THRONE.
was gone, the
end was near. Sooner or later, fate invariably scatters ac-
cumulated wealth. The very richness of this Mogul capital
attracted the despoiler. Tempt-
ed by such a dazzling prize, in
1738, a Shah of Persia captured
Delhi and its contents, plundered
this gorgeous edifice, and carried
off to Teheran the Peacock
Throne and more than a thousand
camel-loads of gems and
precious ornaments,valued,
it is said, at four hundred
million dollars.
Thirty years ago, after
the Indian mutiny, the last
of the Moguls, heir to the throne
of Akbar and Shah Jehan, was
tried by English officers in this

FAST AND PRESENT.
160 INDIA

TRAVELING AS F REIGHT.
glorious palace of his ancestors for treason to Great Britain.
Judgment was found against him, and, having been banished
forever from India, he died a few years later in the British
settlement of Burma. Ironical indeed, therefore, seems the
inscription on these glittering walls. The Mogul dynasty is
gone forever, and in these voiceless corridors of vanished
Oriental splendor our echoing footsteps seemed to murmur
sadly, “Sic transit glorz'a mzma'z'."
The morning after our visit to the Mogul palace, we drove
far out upon the plain surrounding Delhi. The object of this
expedition was to behold a minaret built in honor of the Mos-
lem general, Kutub, who conquered Delhi seven hundred
years ago. It is called after him the Kutub Minar. I gazed


IN THE DAYS OF THE MOGULS.
r
5.22.12. _.
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Jaw-ADM .ECHRZ < m0 mDO<ImOUM<m

t
1;.
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Lvol‘r
I
DD'QF
INDIA 163
upon it with astonishment. Its color was what first im-
pressed me. It is a beautiful Pompeian red, the material
being Indian sandstone. Yet, near the top, with exquisite
effect, it wears a circle of white marble, like a coronet of
pearls, the two combining with the sky to make the glorious
tricolor we see so frequently in India—the red, white, and
blue. The entire column is fluted from top to bottom, and
to relieve it of monotony, it is divided into five sections,
marked by projecting galleries of the finest sculpture, so deli-
cately carved that they may be compared to bracelets on a
lady's arm. So solidly was this stupendous tower constructed,
that not only are its ornamentations still perfect, but not the
least crack in its masonry can be discovered, inside or out,
despite the lapse of seven hundred years. Some think this to
have been a monument of victory rather than a minaret, but
it may well have answered both these purposes. At all events,
it is the most imposing emblem of Mohammedan power that
this earth can show. \Vith the exception of
the ‘Washington obelisk, it is the tallest isolated
monumentin theworld. " Utterly distinct from
any building, this splen- did shaft shoots upward
to the height of two ' hundred and fifty feet,
tapering gradually all Y‘ " the way, till from a cir-
cuit of one hundred and ,. ' fifty feet at the base, it
holds against the sky a .7 ring but ten feet in
diameter. Moreover, "I- '2 beautifully Carved
upon its surface are ‘ decorations which may


164 INDIA
be compared to sculptured rings. They are broad bands
of letters cut into the solid stone, and reproduce in well-
nigh indestructible form passages from the Koran. One
of them reads as follows: “Allah invites to Paradise and
brings into the way of righteousness all who are willing to
I
enter.’ Unutterably solemn, therefore, seems this mighty
column, looking majestically down from its imposing height
upon the silent desolation of the plain. For though from


EUROPEAN RESIDENCES.
this, the grandest of all Moslem minarets, no voice now calls
to prayer, these Arabic inscriptions still proclaim, as they
have done for centuries, the mercy and the majesty of God.
As I turned thoughtfully away from it, I could but ask
myself: “If the Europeans were to relinquish India to-
morrow, what buildings would they leave worthy to be com-
pared for a moment either with this glorious minaret or with
the peerless structures of the Great Moguls?”
By night the plain surrounding Delhi presents a scene of
singular desolation. Upon a site once swarming with tumul-
tuous life, a few poor hovels are the only human habitations.
Yet everywhere, like wreckage floating on the sea, lie the
memorials of
former great-
ness. Dilapi-
dated walls,
deserted for-
tresses, ruined
mosques, soli-
tary gateways,
and crumbling
towers are con-
stantly in sight,
some still re-
taining vestiges
of strength,oth-
ers long since re-
duced to masses
165
of debris. One of these structures is of extraordinary beauty.
It is the oldest Moslem tomb known to exist in India, and


EXQUISITE STONE TRACERY NEAR DELHI.
one or THE KUTUB MINAR'S RINGS.
I“
'
iii ,
'
-“-‘§_I‘bl'
certainly there
are few so richly
decorated. The
roof, indeed, is
gone, and the
sarcophagus of
alabaster which
it protected is
now unshel-
tered from the
sun and rain;
but the old walls
remain intact,
and in their
frost-like tra_
cery in stone
166 INDIA
remind one of the enchanting work of the Alhambra. Similar
tombs are scattered broadcast on this plain; yet what do we
really know of any of the kings and warriors buried in them?
A feeling of profound sadness took possession of me here, and
I recalled the appropriate verses of the Persian poet, Omar
Khayyam, written a hundred years before the Kutub Minar
arose above this plain.

TRAVELING WITH ELEPHAN‘I'S-
“ Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
\Nhich to discover we must travel too.
"Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.
" When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As the Sea‘s self should heed a pebble-cast.
, .mmwuzza 4 m0 HOOb Mia.

INDIA 169
"Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-DAY of past Regret and future Fears:
To-morrowl—VVby To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
" Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows I ”
The name of Delhi is forever associated with the great
Indian mutiny in 1857, when England was suddenly con—
fronted by a revolt of more than one hundred thousand
trained Sepoys, or native soldiers, whom she had enrolled, as
she supposed, for her defense. A spirit of discontent and
hatred of the English had long been latent throughout
India, but the immediate cause of the uprising was, as usual
in all Indian
troubles, a re-
ligious one.
Cartridges had
been given to
the troops, and
these, it was
reported, were
- 1,1. Mae.) , .1.) a
greased with
lard or tallow,
to bite into
\
Q.
. A
‘.
l
.‘u
I‘.
\
_‘.
.\.
~
I
which (as sol-
diers were then
obliged to do)
was to the Hin-


dus a Contami-

n a t i O n w 0 r S 6 OLD MOSLEM TOMB NEAR DELHI.
than death. The rumor of this sacrilege spread like wild-fire,
and regiment after regiment murdered its English officers and
170 INDIA
turned against the Europeans the weapons they had been
One part of Delhi
every lover of
taught to use.


is revered by
brave men \ and valiant
deeds. Itisthe
grave of General
Nichol- son, the
h e r o of the
siege of the city
in 1857. The su-
perbly builtfor-
tress of / the Mo-
gul emper-
then held by
sand well-armed
_ o r s w a s
sixty thou-
natives, many
of whom had been soldiers of the Brit-
ish army. Never- 5"” "F T“ “D I'm“ theless, an English
force of only seven thousand men, led by the gallant Nicholson,
resolved to dislodge them. To do this it was necessary to
make an entrance through a structure called the Cashmere


THE CASHMERE GATE, DELI-Il-
INDIA 171
Gate. This Nicholson ordered to be blown up. It was a des-
perate undertaking, for it was then surrounded with a moat;
but four intrepid heroes volunteered to attempt it. With
heavy bags of powder on their heads, they dashed across the
moat. The foremost was shot dead; the second fell to rise no
more; the third reached the gate and laid the powder, but was
wounded; the fourth, however, lighted the train and sprang
into the ditch. A moment later there was a fearful explosion,



THE RESIDENCY, LL'CKNOW.
the ponderous gate was shattered, and the English troops
rushed in to victory and—in the case of Nicholson—to death.
This memorial of British valor was still fresh in our minds
when, shortly after leaving Delhi, we reached Lucknow and
stood within its former Residency. It is now a ruin, deeply
scarred by shot and shell; but vines and flowers do their best to
hide the ravages of cruelty and strife, and its old walls possess a
serene and melancholy beauty peculiarly their own. Here, at
the time of the mutiny, the position was exactly the reverse
of that at Delhi. In this case, the English were the besieged.
Scantily protected by these walls, through five long months
of Indian summer heat, a force of about sixteen hundred
172 INDIA
fighting men, encumbered by five hundred women and chil-
dren, heroically kept at bay no less than fifty thousand natives,
who were not ignorant savages with uncouth instruments of
war, but well-armed native soldiers, trained by British officers.

THE OLD WALLS AT LUCKNOW.
Passing beyond the Baillie gate, through which at last,
after those awful months of siege, the rescuing army forced
its way, we saw the room where the commander of that
garrison, the lion-hearted Henry Lawrence, when mortally
wounded by a shell, received the sacrament and breathed his
last. He was almost the only man in India who had fore-
seen the coming storm in time to store up ammunition and
prepare for war. As a rule, the mutiny took the British by
surprise. So thoroughly had they relied upon their native
regiments, that many British troops had been called home for
the Crimean War. Only about twenty thousand English
soldiers had been left in India, and these were scattered over
an enormous territory, with scarcely any railroads to facili-

SNAKE-CHARMERS.
b0’.
0'(‘
INDIA 17;,
tate their concentration. One can but marvel, therefore,
that any foreigners were left to tell the tale. But English
steadfastness and valor proved too much for even those ap-
palling odds, and India was saved to England by just such
heroes as Sir Henry Lawrence, who, as his life blood ebbed
away, whispered the words inscribed upon his tomb: “I have
tried to do my duty. May the Lord have mercy on my soul."


THE’. BAILLIE GATE, LUCKNOW.
When the remains of this noble patriot and Christian
were laid to rest, the fighting was so severe that none of his
officers dared to leave his post. But, one by one, the sol-
diers who bore him to the grave, ere they lowered him into
the earth, lifted the sheet which covered the face of their
beloved commander, and reverently kissed his brow.
Still bearing in mind those fearful days of '57, we jour-
neyed from Lucknow to the town of Cawnpore. Tranquil
enough it seems to-day, yet, forty years ago, there was
enacted here one of the most awful tragedies ever recorded on
176 INDIA
the page of history. There was no fort in Cawnpore, and,
accordingly, when the mutiny broke out, the old commander,
Sir Hugh Wheeler, assembled all the European residents in
an open field, and raised around them a low wall of earth.
To defend this position he could only muster about four hun-
dred English soldiers, more than seventy of whom were inva-
lids. Opposed to them were three thousand Sepoys, armed
with muskets and cannon. Moreover. into this unsheltered
area the dread-
ful sun of India
poured all day
long its burning
rays, almost
as deadly in
their effect as
shot and shell.
Making our
way across this
ground — mute
witness of that
physical and
mental anguish,

—we stood be-
side the solitary
ROOM WHERE SIR HENRY LAVI'RENCE DIED.
well upon which these poor refugees depended for their water.
To get this precious liquid men had to go at night; for in the
day, exposed to a sharp fire from the natives, to venture here
meant certain death. The sight of it reminds one that two
hundred English ladies, who had never known hardship or
discomfort, together with many young and delicate children,
were forced to lie, half mad with thirst, behind low earth-
works, or else in holes dug in the ground, partially shaded
from the deadly sun by garments stretched on the points of
bayonets.
INDIA 177
After twenty-one days, when Sir Hugh Wheeler had him-
self fallen ill, and when the wretched garrison was desperate
from sickness

and starvation,
they received
a proposition
from the native
leader, Nana.
He solemnly
swore by the
sacred Ganges
that if they
would surrender


and lay down
their arms’ he THE FIELD AT CAWNPORE.
would conduct them safely to the river, half a mile away,
and send them all in comfortable boats down to the British
colony at Allahabad. It was decided to accept the offer.
Accordingly, the next morning, having given up their weap-
ons, all the sur-
vivors, includ-
ing the wounded
and the children,
left the area
where they had
endured such
misery, and
started for the
river, along a
path where there
now stands a fine
THE WELL memorial church
erected in their honor. Nana, upon whose promise they
were thus relying, cannot be classed with any Zulu chief or


Us INDIA
North American Indian. He was a native prince,—rthe owner
of a splendid palace. Some of the ladies then tottering
toward the river, more dead than alive, had danced at balls
given at his residence. The officers, too, had drunk cham-
pagne with him and thought him a most courteous fellow-—
for an Indian. ‘The reason for Nana's treachery is plain.
His father, when dethroned by England like so many other
Indian princes, had been richly pensioned. Upon his death,
Nana demanded the continuance of the pension. The British
Government refused. Thenceforth, beneath that prince’s
suave and elegant manners lurked a thirst for vengeance.
No one suspected him—he was so hospitable, so refined!
Even his secre- tary had been
lionized in f London,

A VILLAGE STREET.




A PRINCESS.
INDIA ,8,

been sent to the
Crimea to study
the art of war.
Beside the
river is a stair-
way known as
the “Staircase
of the Massa-
cre." Down

these steps the
prisoners made
their way with
hope and joy.

The boats were
“ THE MEMORIAL CHURCH.
ly," they thought, “there is no treachery: Nana has kept
his word." While the women and children gladly went on
board, on one side of the staircase stood the Englishmen;
upon the other,

Nana and his of-
ficers. Sudden-
ly Nana raised
his sword. It
was the signal
for the butch-
ery. At once
a battery, till
then concealed,
' :3? vii '
i
' ,1"? "......“x ‘mi-"III" P, ‘I "NH, ":1
III if III II;
5-
' ll


poured on the

._
|i||l
. raw’,
1'‘ ' wretched pris-
. a} ‘—
" i -. ' oners a storm of
grape-shot. Sir
Hugh fell dead
THE onus or MANY masons, CAWNPORE. at OTIC€.

182 INDIA
four wounded men, by feigning death and floating down the
stream, succeeded in escaping. The women and children,
however — then

a company of
widows and or-
phans—were
brought on
shore, reserved
f o r a m o r e
dreadful fate.
Filled with un-
__ 7 _ utterable hor-
NEAR rm; s-ravs 0F surnames. for’ thgy must
have envied then their husbands, fathers, and brothers, who
had been killed before their eyes. A beautiful memorial




park now occupies the place to which they were conducted.
Here, for three

weeks, in the
appalling heat
of India in July,
two hundred
‘a’
. 'l." I
l-
0 l' " - \S I \r t -. n
- ‘a! _-'
and six Euro-
pean ladies and
children were
pent up in two
stifling rooms.
Upon the wom-
en the natives
inflicted such
insults as they
liked, for they
well knew that THE TAIRCASE OF THE MASSACRE.


nothing would so lacerate English hearts as brutal treatment
of their women. But when the troops of General Havelock
INDIA 183
were reported to be near, Nana ordered all these prisoners
to be brought out and shot. In an agony of dread, the
women clung to each other so closely that it was impossible
to separate them. Accordingly, the butchers finally rushed in
upon them with drawn swords and bayonets, and amid heart-
rending shrieks and piteous prayers the deed was done.
There is in Cawnpore now a soldier who was one of the army
of General Havelock and who arrived here just four hours
He told us that
held the scene of
he almost fell
after the massacre.
when he first be-
this slaughter


to the earth with horror.
Upon the walls were
traced in blood a
few ag- onized
messages tofriends
at home. There,
too, were bullet-
marks and sabre-cuts;
not high up, as if men had
foughtwithmen, but low down
and about the cor- ners, where the
poor crouching vic- “""MMFHAVEMK'S “m” tirns had been cut
to pieces. Saddest of all, scattered upon the blood-smeared
floor, were locks of golden hair and little children’s shoes and
playthings. The sight of these things drove the English
troops to madness, and bearded men who had beheld, un-
moved, the horrors of a hundred battles, sat down and wept
in sickening anguish; then rose again, steeled evermore
against a cry for mercy!
In the memorial park, surrounded by a beautifully sculp-
tured screen, is the historic well, whither, on seeing the natives
coming toward them, ten English women rushed, and, with-
out hesitation, first threw their children in and then leaped
184 INDIA
in themselves. Into this abyss the mutilated remains of
those who had been massacred were also subsequently thrown,
— mothers and
children, the
dying and the
dead in on e
red, palpitating
mass. Above
this well, which
forms the bur-



ial-place ofmore

FORMER HOME OF NANA. than two hun-
dred victims, an angel stands in snow-white raiment, so pure,
so beautiful, and so pathetic from the memories which it
evokes that at the sight the eyes grow dim with tears. One
feels that it is
“holy ground." f
The angel's
arms are crossed

upon the breast
in resignation,
while in each
hand is held the
martyr's palm,
Over the arch-
way is inscribed:
“These are they
who came out
of great tribula-
tion." Around
the well-curb, 7
too, I read these THE MEMORIAL WELL.
words: “Sacred to the perpetual memory of the great com-


pany of Christian people, chiefly women and children, who

MONUMENT AT CAWNPORE.
INDIA 187
near this spot were cruelly massacred by the followers of the
rebel Nana, and cast, the dying with the dead, into the well
below, on the 15th day of july, 1857."
“No native is allowed to enter this enclosure," said the
old soldier who here serves as guardian. We could not
wonder at the law.
Leaving this hallowed spot, we drove to a point beside
the river Ganges, whence we could see the former residence


AN INDIAN LANDSCAPE.
of Nana,—the wretch upon whose guilty soul rests this
inhuman crime. What became of him no one can tell. The
British government offered a reward for his arrest, but he
was never found. Some think this human tiger perished in
the jungle. Others maintain that he is still alive, living in
safety in the north of India, beyond the English lines. At
all events, his fiendish work is over now, and the historic
stream, once stained with England's bravest blood, now flows
on peaceful and clear, just as within the lovely garden at
the well the air which once resounded to the shrieks of anguish
now echoes to the songs of birds.
In addition to the tragedy at Cawnpore, horrible deeds of
188 INDIA


cruelty were enacted in other parts of India. In Delhi, deli-
cate ladies and beautiful young girls were stripped of their
clothing and driven naked through the
streets, stoned, beaten, pelted with offal,
and finally given over to the brutal passions
of the rabble, until the terrified and horror-
stricken women became raving maniacs or
sank in death. More than once the fiends
snatched children from their mother’s arms
and dashed their brains out on the walls.
Some families, too, are said to have been
burned to death. Surely, it is not strange
that when the English once more gained the
mastery, they blew a number of these de-
mons from the cannon’s mouth.
A SOLDIER AND CAMEL.
A few days after leaving Cawnpore, I saw, in company
with an English ofiicer, some native regiments on parade. I
asked him frankly what he thought about the chances of
another mutiny. His answer was a guarded one. “We are
more careful now," he said: “our British force will never
again be so reduced as it was in ’57. It numbered then only
39,000 men as compared with 225,000 native soldiers. More-
over, While we use Indian troops for infantry and cavalry, we
keep most of

the cannon in
our own hands;
and do not for-
get that we
have now a
system of rail-
ways and tele-
graphs, NATIVE moors.
means that we can put down any insurrection quickly and
effectively.” But several civilians with whom we conversed


INDIA 189
did not take this optimistic view. According to them, a vast
majority of Hindus and Mohammedans would rise to-morrow,
if they dared, especially if Russia's guns began to rouse the
echoes of the Himalayas. Their first step undoubtedly would
be to cut the telegraph wires and destroy the railroads; and
how much better off, they ask, would Europeans then be in
India?‘ Many a Maharajah is said to be secretly as discon-
tented as was the rebel Nana. These fires of hate are merely
smouldering now, but who can say they will not some day
burst forth into
a flame? At all
events, it is sig-

nificant that no
natives, outside
the army, are
allowed to own
or carry fire-
arms.
Itmust be re-
membered also
that, although
in her schools


AN ENGLISH REGIMENT.
and universities
England is educating thousands of these natives and giving
them employment, nevertheless it is just this class that is
most discontented. They have learned enough to believe,
and even to assert, that the original inhabitants of a country
should govern it, and that it is absurd for a handful of Eng-
lishmen, whose home is in another portion of the globe, to
rule three hundred million people, entirely distinct from them
in race, ideas, customs, and religion. Meantime, at the other
end of the social scale are millions of fanatics who hate Eu-
ropeans from religious motives, and would starve to death
rather than eat a particle of food which Christian hands had
190
touched. Be-
tween these two
opposing forces
England stands
to-day.
The dwell-
ings of the com-
mon peasants
on the plains
of India sug-
gested to my
mind feathered
dog-houses,
sometimes sur-

mounted by a
SOME SUBJECTS OF GREAT BRITAIN.
second story,
where the inmates keep a look-out for crows. One readily
sees that the vast majority of these people do not understand
the character and customs of the men who govern them.
The Hindus, for example, living on a little rice, and thinking
, it an atrocious crime to kill an


animal, regard with horror and
contempt the godless foreigners
who gorge themselves with beef
and mutton; and the Moham-
medans, who are forbidden by
the Koran to touch intoxicating
drinks, shudder
to see Europe-
ans consume as-
tonishing quan-
tities of brandy,
whisky, and
champagne. A
A LOOKOUT FOR GROWS-

_ re a


‘ I,‘ 4 .' e- I
t’rg's
Q

AN OPEN-Al R BOUDOIR.

INDIA 193
story is told of a Hindu servant who was devotedly attached
to his English master. When the latter died, the native
desired to carry out the_Oriental custom of comforting the
spirit of the deceased by bringing to his tomb a sample of
the food of which, in life, he had been especially fond. Ac-
cordingly, he knelt beside his master's grave, and, with tears


TEA PICKING IN INDIA.
streaming down his cheeks, poured out to the dead English-
man a copious libation of— brandy and soda.
When one occasionally gains a glimpse of one of the
Indian princes whom England has deposed, he naturally
asks (as they themselves no doubt, have often done), “What
right have the English in India, anyway?" About the same
right they have in Burma and a score of other places; the
same right that the French possess in Siam, or that various
nations now have in the continent of Africa. The recent
194 INDIA
history of Oriental politics is, after
all, a simple one. Stripped of all
glittering rhetoric, the situation is
just this: Europe desires to control
the trade of a certain country, and
sends out merchants to obtain it.
If the unfortunate country does
not wish to trade, Europe bom-
bards her till she yields and busi-
ness is established. Of course,
complications soon arise. The
Orient is always in the wrong. A
war ensues. The Orient is defeated

and must pay indemnity. In order
A“ INDIA" "ME- to collect it, European officers are
appointed, and the unhappy country is taken under European
1
“protection,' which means, eventually, not only annexation,
but the appropriation of much private property. There have
been writers,
wr—
even among the
English, bold
enough to de-
clare that Eng-
land had no more
right to the pri-
vate jewels of
one of the kings
whom she de-
throned in In-
dia than to the
crown diamonds
of Russia.
Yet, in justice
to England, it

PALACE OF A DETHRONED PRINCE.
INDIA 195
should be remembered that, although other European nations
feign to regard such conduct with the utmost horror, they
are all watching for a chance to do the same thing. The
principal difficulty seems to be that England has appropriated
almost everything in sight. The other nations, therefore, are
in the position of the
smaller lions, repre-
sented in the pic-
ture of Daniel in the
lion's den, of which
a Sunday - school
boy once said to his
teacher: “Please,
ma’am, those little
lions in the corner
are n’t going to get
any Daniel at all! "
It should be said,
however, that Eng-
land succeeds in her
colonization where
other nations often
fail; for she invari-
ably sends the trader
first, and then the
soldier. France, on

A MAHARAJAH.
the contrary, usually
sends the soldier first, and hence the trader sometimes does
not come at all.
An incident in my experience well illustrates these differ-
ent modes of colonization. In sailing down the coast of
China, from Hong-Kong to India, we stopped at the French
settlement of Saigon. To our surprise, we were there able
to attend an opera given by a company brought direct from
196 INDIA
Paris. The French Government, at an expense of twenty-
five thousand dollars, had sent it out there for the season, to
keep the colonists from being so homesick that they would
return to France. “Great Heavens!” cried one of our Eng-
lish passengers, “I wish Gladstone would do that for us. But
in our colonies life ‘means business’ from the start. We
young men come out here to succeed, or to go to the wall.
It is a case of the survival of the fittest. The mother coun-



SAILING SOUTH TO INDIA.
try practically says to every one of us, as she casts us into the
world, ‘Root, hog, or die.
That British occupation is on the whole a blessing to
India I have not the slightest doubt. Whether the English
really have a right to dominate the Mogul Empire, or not,
I’!
there can be only one opinion as to the superiority of Anglo-
Saxon rule over the usual tyranny of Indian princes. The
British Government has built in India railways, bridges, high-
roads, churches, hospitals, and schools. It has established
national universities. It has abolished many horrible relig-
ious customs, such as the burning alive of widows, and death
beneath the car of Juggernaut; and, above all, it has given
to India courts of justice, in which all natives, rich or, poor,
J<>rrmflm mDO~U~4m~M <





1 ‘r ‘a 1., ‘a , '0. v \
'1 ‘If ....filr.
.. A”? v\ w. .
\ r .-....“uflgr
a" . u \ s Q ..I D I

v
. v
‘g
u “ .nll’l’l Ii »
O
' x" | N 11!

I.‘
I
INDIA 199
Brahmins or Pariahs, can have their rights defended by the
grand old'principles of English law.
The city which, more than all the rest of India, delights
and satisfies
the traveler, lies
in the heart
of the old Mo-
gul Empire and
is known as
Agra. It sur-
passes even Del-
hi in its mag-
nificent me-
morials of the
Mogul dynasty.

Three struc-
tures are espe-
cially remark-
able in this old
capital of Ak-
bar: the Mau-
soleum of the
Prince Itmad-
ud-Daulat, the
Mogul Palace,
and the Taj Ma-
hal. It is true,
the first of these
lies across the

river Jumna, at
a little distance 5mm cARvmGs 0? AN mums TEMPLE.
from the city, and many tourists fail to visit it. But were it
not for its proximity to the incomparable Taj, this tomb
would be regarded as one of the marvels of India and would
200 INDIA


AN INDIAN RAILWAY STATION-
of itself repay
a lengthy pil-
grimage.
Itmad-ud-
Daulat was the
father-in-law
and prime min-
ister of the Mo-
gul emperor,
Jahangir, who
succeeded his
father Akbar in
1605. Hismau-
soleum stands,
as is usually the
case in India,
in a beautiful garden, whose foliage and flowers form a lovely
framework for the pure white marble of the edifice. The
Oriental architects who worked for the Moguls thoroughly
understood the value of perspective and the solemnity and
dignity imparted to such structures by a gradual approach on
TOMB OF ITMAD-UD-DAULAT, AGRA-


INDIA 20[
marble pavements framed in verdure. This building is so
perfectly proportioned that it is a constant pleasure to behold
it, even from a distance, and when one comes to its threshold
and examines it in detail, his admiration is unbounded. For
the entire edifice without and within, in its windows, doors,
walls, and graceful towers is a masterpiece of carved and per-

A GORGEOUS MAUSOLEUM-
forated marble, inlaid with precious stones. On the outside,
the walls are beautiful expanses of the mosaic work called
pz'dra dura, arranged in rectangles, diagonals, diamonds,
cubes, stars, and other geometrical designs. While the arches
are adorned with flowers carved in marble, the inner walls and
niches are embellished with flowers in mosaic, whose colors,
set in jewels, never fade. In the place of windows also are
placed alabaster screens, so exquisitely cut and perforated
that they appear like white lace curtains, through whose fine
apertures the sunbeams filter to a dust of gold.
202 INDIA
This tomb is not a rival of the Taj Mahal. It could not
be, for the Taj is the most beautiful structure in the world.
But, being smaller, this can perhaps be studied to better
advantage, and, since the style of decoration in both build-


THE FORT AT AGRA.
ings is very similar, this can explain some features of the
greater edifice, which might, in the confused emotions there
awakened, escape our notice. Moreover, the Taj appeals to
us as an expression of man’s love for woman. This tomb has
no such sentiment connected with it, and merely marks the
resting-place of one almost unknown to history, and whose
very name is spelled in half a dozen ways. Nevertheless, it
is one of the most beautifully proportioned and richly deco—
rated buildings in the world; and as I turned at the entrance
of the lovely garden to take a farewell view of its enameled
walls and jeweled towers, I thought the scene a perfect illuss
tration of the well known lines:
“A palace lifting to eternal summer
Its marble balls from out a glossy bower
Of coolest foliage, musical with birds."


(‘vet's
I



GROUP OF FEMALE TEACHERS.
INDIA 20;
In Agra as in Delhi, stands a mighty fortress, built by
Akbar. I could not think of this as a mere citadel. It
seemed rather a city in itself; for it is nearly two miles in
circumference, and is entirely enclosed by ramparts seventy
feet in height. Around it winds a moat a hundred feet in
breadth, from which at frequent intervals rise massive towers,
like mediaeval castles on the Rhine. The color of this belt
of masonry is a deep red, which in the glow of sunset is sug-
gestive of the sanguinary scenes it has so often looked upon.
At such a time one easily fancies that the moat itself is filled
with blood, whose horrible reflection paints itself upon the
stone.
Its massive gateway, guarded constantly by sentinels, is a
reminder that the primary object of this structure is defense.
At all events, a

large amount of
arms and ammu-
nition is now
stored within its
walls; and in
the event of an-
other mutiny,
this would be-
come invaluable
as a place of
refuge. In the
days of the Mo-
gul emperors

this fortress was

a kind of strong THE GATEWAY-
box, containing the palace and the sacred treasures of the
empire. To some extent it is so still. For, though the
throne of the Moguls has fallen, and their resplendent diadems
and diamond-hilted swords have all passed into other hands,
206 INDIA
yet even now this beautifully sculptured casket holds some
architectural jewels that have few equals in the world.
The first of these to greet the tourist as soon as he has
passed the portal, is called the Pearl Mosque, and from its
spotless purity and beauty it deserves the name; for every-
where in its enclosure,—roof, columns, walls, and pavement
are as white as alabaster. No other sanctuary on earth exhibits
such simplicity and purity. Here are no images or paintings,

A CORNER OF THE FORT, AGRA.
or even gilding; one is surrounded only by the chaste white
marble, with vines and flowers carved upon it in relief. Oh,
the immeasurable superiority of this immaculate pearl of Ori-
ental architecture over the sickening idolatry and filth of Hin-
duism! No furniture, not even a rug, profanes this beautiful
expanse; but the marble pavement is carefully divided by
the sculptor’s chisel into rectangular spaces, on each of which
a follower of Mahomet may kneel in prayer. ‘What an exam-
ple is this of the restraining power of the Mohammedan
religion! For, more than twelve hundred years ago, the
Koran forbade the followers of the Prophet to make any
. ,o .a ".1, .v <-
.... .. u H .5532 52mm 5:. t5 moEmhxu
Anew"! .I. II. III




INDIA 209
likeness of animal life, lest it should lead to idolatry; and
during all these centuries that rule has been obeyed. The
Moslems, it is true, have thus been kept from cultivating
painting and sculpture, but what have they not accomplished
.
rif-
,.;a. .s-.-.,. ' ;.:“~s'../f*&.aesos



,P
a n
‘g
.8-
in architecture, from Granada to Damascus, and from these
Mogul palaces to the Taj Mahal!
THE PEARL MOSQUE.
At a little distance from this mosque, but still within the
fort, stands the palace in which the Mogul emperors resided
when at Agra. It seems as if the inmates of such glorious
halls should have led lives as full of joy as their apartments
were of beauty. Yet sculptured stone, however exquisite,
can never satisfy the heart, and even jeweled walls cannot
210 INDIA
atone for loss of liberty. So it
was here. Its builder was the
lavish Shah jehan, who also built
the equally magnificent palace at
Delhi and the incomparable Taj
Mahal. And yet he spent the
last seven years of his life here,
a hopeless captive, imprisoned
by his rebellious son; experienc-
ing thus that bitterest of sor-
rows,—-ill-treatment and ingrat-
itude from a heartless child.
One thing, however, gave Shah

Jehan some consolation; for,
’‘ *“WL'C’N' "GR" when all others had abandoned
him, his faithful daughter would not leave him. She volun-
tarily shared his long imprisonment, striving to make her


i‘ J Q‘wvfi‘a“
.1?" ' e
+ 3. ‘w
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A MARBLE SCREEN.
INDIA 2II

love atone for all
that he had lost.
Her very name,
“ Jehanara, ’ ’ was
but the softened
echo of his own,
and it was in
giving birth to
this child that
the Emperor's


idolized wife
had died. Re-
I'lOWIIGd f0!‘ Wit TOMB 0F IEHANARA.

and beauty, she might have held a brilliant place at her
brother's court; but she preferred the prison of her father,
displaying thus the noble traits of character that have immor-
talized her memory.
Nothing in India is more pathetic than her burial-place.
Having seen the hollowness of royal luxury, she begged,



A PORTION OF THE PALACE AT AGRA.
212 INDIA
when on her death-bed, that grass and flowers should be her
only covering. Her wish has been respected. It is true an
alabaster screen now forms a frame-work for her couch of
death, but the space thus enclosed is covered merely with
green turf. Up-
on the marble
headstone are
inscribed these
Words : “ Let
no rich canopy
adorn my grave.
These simple
flowers are most
appropriate for
one who was
poor in spir-
it, though the
daughterofShah
Jehan.”
The pavilion
in which the Mo-
gul sovereign
was imprisoned
was, like all the
"Kn ,,,.. rest of the palace,
I’) ‘In’: It I‘!
I ‘a’ II)
__ " g V . __ I, .. replete with lux-

ury and beauty;
THE PRISON OF SHAH JEHAN.
yet its inmate
was a broken-hearted man. He had enjoyed unlimited power:
it was his no more. He had erected buildings which even
to-day astonish and delight the world: this he could do no
longer. He had so dearly loved his wife, that when she died
he reared for her the fairest mausoleum which this earth has
ever seen; yet when it was completed he could not enter it
...‘
m SMHZMUm Z<><A<EHE






5.‘.
FBI.
INDIA 215
to weep beside her grave. \Vorse than all, the man who had
thus robbed him of his throne, his wealth, his occupation,
and his liberty, besides murdering his three remaining sons,
was his own child by the woman he had so adored!
In realizing these facts, one naturally asks: “\Vas not this
Mogul emperor a Mohammedan, and do not Moslems usually
regard their wives as pretty toys,—mere creatures of a day,



E‘_' _._—_r!'"‘' v '
a 3".‘
.


. , "" " """' _'
In.” It
a...‘
__ . . >._:'~V-
‘ Lil-=9

AUDIENCE HALL AND TERRACE, AGRA.
who have not even souls to insure them immortality?"
Undoubtedly; and this, indeed, is the mystery and marvel of
it all, that such a man (the sovereign of an Eastern court,
with all material pleasures open to his choice) should have so
idolized his lawful wife that when she died he vowed to build
for her the grandest tomb that man could frame, and kept
his promise, too, although the work required twenty years.
Yet this woman, who was the joy and light of his life, was no
young bride, whose early death had made her seem to him
216 INDIA
an ideal character. She was the mother of his children; and
when at last she died in his arms, he had been wedded to her
fourteen years.
We stood with reverence beside the window of his room,
and saw in the distance, as he so often did, the peerless monu-

THE ENTRANCE TO THE GARDEN OF THE TA].
ment of love he reared to hers—the Taj Mahal. Toward
those white domes, whose soft reflection lay like pearls within
the adjacent stream, his dying eyes were turned as over them
crept the film of death. Within that wonderful edifice he is
buried with the one he loved. For, far more merciful in
death than he had been in life, his son allowed the body of
the deposed emperor to be borne thither to repose beside that
wife whom this majestic structure will make famous to the
end of time.
Leaving the Mogul palace, we drove along the river to the
beautiful park of forty acres that surrounds the Taj. This
INDIA 217
garden, which is to the Taj what the setting is to the jewel,
is entirely enclosed by a lofty wall. Grandeur and beauty
here go hand in hand, for the gateway to this area is no less
than one hundred and forty feet in height and a hundred feet
in breadth, and its red sandstone frame is exquisitely decor-
ated with mosaic in white marble. Impatient, however, to
behold a still greater treasure, we passed beneath this portal
and gazed upon the Taj itself. It was still distant. Be-
tween us and its pure white form we saw a garden of great
beauty. Down through the centre led a stately avenue with
marble pavement white as snow. Beside it was a canal of
water, from which at times a score of fountains rose like silver
trees. \Vithin its limpid flood a thousand goldfish gleamed
like jewels in the sunlight. On the right and left stood rows
of cypress trees, like funeral plumes; while farther still were
groves of palms and orange trees, whose foliage is swayed by



LOOKING TOWARD THE TA].
breezes fragrant with the breath of flowers. Thousands of
roses bloom here during the entire year, sacred to death and
to a deathless love. Speechless, as in a dream, we walked on
through this flowery paradise, and drew still nearer to the
Taj. Letting our gaze move slowly from its base to its
218 INDIA

summit, two hundred and ninety—six feet, above our heads, we
noted, first, a massive platform of red sandstone, measuring
on each side a thousand feet. From this a marble terrace
rises to serve as a pedestal for the Taj itself. As for the
structure in the centre, the first bewildering glance revealed
what seemed to be a delicately sculptured mountain of pure
alabaster, supporting on its crest a sparkling dome, light as a
radiant bubble,
which might at
any moment float
away and vanish
intoair. After one
rapturous look at
its sublime pro-
portions the last
doubt was dis-
pelled forever.
The conquest was
complete; and I
became a wor-
shiper of the Taj,
like all the mill-
ions who had gone
before me. The
fundamental secret of this charm, like that of most things
A MOUNTAIN 0F ALABASTER.
that are truly great, is its simplicity. It is not complicated
in design. It has the purity and simple majesty of the Jung-
frau. It is to Saracenic, what the Athenian Parthenon was
to Grecian art. The mind can grasp it Without effort. Its
perfect harmony recalls the phrase of Madame de Stael, that
“ architecture is frozen music." One part balances another,
the platform is proportioned to the pedestal, the smaller
domes to the great central one, and the minarets to the entire
structure. It is the one completely faultless edifice that man

" ‘._.- ’ TEX‘I '.-'


~
THE TA] FROM THE GARDEN.
INDIA 22!
has reared. Pass-
ing slowly around
it, we viewed the
Taj from the bank
of the river Jum-
na. At each of
the four corners
of its pedestal a
marble minaret
springs heaven-
ward, like a silver
arrow, piercing


the air one hun-
dred and forty feet
above the pave-
GATEWAV SEEN PROM THE GARDEN.
ment, and on the eastern as well as on the western side of the
huge platform stands a graceful mosque. No doubt these
mosques and minarets were deemed essential, lest this majestic
edifice should
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thoughts from
heaven. At all
events, from


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one of these


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thaw
four marble
shafts, uplift-
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sky, there floats
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five times a day,



the muezzin’s
musical remind-
er of the only


LACEWORK 1N MARBLE.
Our admira-
tion of the Taj
was still further

increased, when
we examined
its marvelous
decorations.
Around each
archway, inlaid
in black mar-
ble, are delicate
arabesques and





A SECTION OF THE TA].
countless verses from the Koran,—the graceful Oriental char-
acters mingling and intertwining like the finest scroll-work
or the slender stems and tendrils of a creeping vine. The
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a’?
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. _ a
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‘as
THE SCREEN OF ALABASTBR.
""9 l1.
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iiaep
;— _
\Q _-<—.
J
INDIA 223
walls appear almost as massive as the eternal hills, yet
on their milk-white surface thousands of roses, tulips, hya-
cinths, and daisies are sculptured in relief, as though real gar-
lands had been hung here once with such consummate skill
that some delighted gnzz'r of the Arabian Nights had, by a
stroke of the enchanter's wand, transformed them into stone.
As I surveyed them with delight, I caught my breath to think
of all the labor represented here, and of the patient fingers
(long since turned to dust), which planted all these jeweled
flowers in their snow-white beds, and
made them bloom unchanged from cen- g
tury to century. The Taj, which was
begun in the year 1630, is said to have


occupied twenty thousand men for twenty
years. All India furnished its materials.
The marble came from one province, the
sandstone from another. The Punjab
sent it jasper; Ceylon gave sapphires and
lapis-lazuli; and agate, onyx, tur-
quoises, and carnelians came from
Thibet, Persia, and Arabia. A twi-
light gloom pervades the interior of
this wonderful mausoleum; but if
electric light could suddenly be in-
troduced here, one could believe
himself within Aladdin’s cave. For
then the walls would show with daz-
zling effect their inlaid agate, jasper,
bloodstone, and carnelian. It seems
as if the emperor, in madness at his
loss, and counting earthly wealth as
nothing, had thrust his arms repeat-
edly into the glittering coffers of the
Mogul treasury, and, drawing forth
A TOWER AT AGRA.
224 INDIA
great handfuls of rare gems, had scattered them upon this
tomb, as ordinary men would lay upon a grave bouquets of
flowers. In the very centre of the mausoleum I saw what
seemed to be a circular frame of lace suspended from the
roof by unseen cords. It is, in reality, a screen of alabaster,
six feet in height and sixty in circumference. Each panel is
a single piece of alabaster several inches thick, yet carved
. ;
‘kale? \‘A'r. ‘.l "
IL...‘- !~

THE TOMBS OF SHAH JEHAN AND HIS WIFE.
with so much elegance and skill that one must touch it to
believe it stone. \Vithin this exquisite enclosure are two
marble cenotaphs, completely covered with mosaic-work in
precious stones, one hundred being sometimes used to repre-
sent a single flower; and through this mass of floral decor-
ations runs a delicate Persian script, telling the story of these
royal lovers in lines of which each letter is a gem.
Appropriately enough the sweetest echo in the world
dwells in this jeweled cavern. The dome receives all sounds
within its silvery crucible, transforms them into purest har-
INDIA 225
mony, and sends them down again as if the upper space were
tenanted by a celestial choir, chanting an endless requiem to
this ideal union both in life and death. It is particularly
sensitive to gentle sounds, and a few notes, sung softly here,
float up in rhythmic waves to break upon the concave of the
marble arch again, and yet again, until they tremblingly die
away like whispered accents of impassioned love. Can any-
thing be more beautiful than this—a building dedicated to the
memory of a beloved wife, and at the same time the most
perfect structure in the world? It is the grandest yet most
delicate homage that man has ever paid to womankind.
There are at least two places in this world where moonlight
is essential to complete our happiness—they are Venice and
Agra. I had arranged the date of my arrival here with this in
view, and hence it was my inestimable privilege to stand here
at midnight on the thirty-first of December. Then, gazing
on this miracle of beauty, I watched the Old Year take its
flight and the New Year steal in with noiseless footsteps, as
if to pay its first devotions to the Taj. And as I saw the
moonlight gild the slender minarets, till they appeared like
beautiful wax tapers lighting this abode of death, and then
beheld the Taj itself, one glorified expression of immortal
genius, it seemed too wonderful to be reality. It was, in
truth, a dream in marble, and, sweetest of all dreams—a
dream of love.


THE PASSION PLAY


OME centuries ago, within the sphere of Christendom,
the modern drama was anticipated by numerous sym-
bolical representations of religious subjects. These
were at different times called “Miracle," “Mystery,” and
“Passion” plays. In a remote Bavarian valley the last of all
these medizeval dramas still exists. It has, for special reasons,
long outlived its kindred, and now upon a solitary altar burns
this sacred fire, still kept alive by the breath of simple piety.
In 1880 I saw this play for the first
time. I went to it, expecting very little.
I left it in astonishment and admiration. ‘ ‘
In 1890 I beheld it again, and all my first
impressions were confirmed. The world
is wide, but it contains no sight like that
of Ober-Ammergau.* The best proof of


this is the fact that, although now no
novelty, during the summer months of
the decennial periods when the play is
given, this great religious drama is wit-
nessed every Sunday and almost every new OF CHRIST.
(Ho/Yuma”)
Monday, by a multitude of visitors ap-
proximating, in all, a quarter of a million people, who from
all corners of the earth make their way, often at serious per-
*Ober-Ammergau, as its name indicates, is the upper of two villages situated
in the gnu, or district adjacent to the river Ammer.
230 THE PASSION PLAY
sonal inconvenience, up the steep mountains of Tyrol, merely
to see this wonderful performance.
In any other place the Passion Play would be offensive.
Like a wild mountain flower, it would not bear transplanting
to another soil. But\ in Ober-Ammergau, with an historical
background as striking and unique as that of its encircling
mountains, it seems


appropriate and nat-
ural. As early as the
thirteenth century
some drama of the life
of Christ was here per-
formed, but it became


an established in-
stitution of the
place two hundred
and fifty years ago.
At that time a
plague was raging
in Bavaria. In _ - a
_ ON THE WAY TO OBER-AMMERGAU-
alone nearly one hundred people had perished. Accordingly,
the terrified survivors made a vow, that if their town were
spared all further ravages of the disease, they would thereafter.
every ten years, portray in a dramatic form, for the instruc-
tion of mankind, the story of Christ’s life and sufferings.
Apparently this vow was heard ;, for the plague at once
abated, and. ever since, the villagers of Ober-Am'nergau have
felt it to be both a duty and a privilege to carry out the
THE PASSION PLAY 4-
é3r
promise of their ancestors, bequeathing it from generation to
generation as a sacred obligation.
'In the year 1870, when the Franco-Prussian war broke
out, the Passion Play was being performed, and forty of the
Ober-Ammergau villagers were drafted for service in the
Bavarian army. 'Among those who were thus called to take
up arms was joseph Maier, who was then portraying the
character of Christ, as he subsequently did in 1880 and 1890.
The performances of the Passion Play in that year were,
therefore, rudely interrupted; but fortunately Ludwig II,
King of Bavaria, was a great admirer and patron of this his-
toric play. He therefore commanded that Maier, instead of
serving in the field, should perform his duties as a soldier in
the garrison at Munich. In 1871, however, the Play was
resumed, and from that time on has been far more widely
known throughout the Christian world.
It was late in the afternoon of the fourteenth of May,
1890, when, leaving the train which in three hours had con-
veyed us from Munich to Murnau, we started on a six-mile drive
to Ober-Ammergau, hidden away among the Tyrolese Alps.

CHARACI’ERISTIC SCENERV.
232 THE PASSION PLAY
We soon discovered that great improvements had been
made within the last ten years. In place of the old carriage-
road, which was positively dangerous at certain points, we
saw that with sublime audacity a highway had been cut for
miles out of the very cliffs themselves, and wound in mighty
coils about the mountain sides, above ravines a thousand feet
in depth, protected along its course by iron railings sunk in
the massive rocks. In fact, this new route rivals, alike in
labor and in engineering skill, the best made roads of Switz-
erland. At every turn the scenery was enchanting. From
valleys, beautifully fresh and green, rose sharp-pointed moun-
tains, nine or ten thousand feet in height, their sides in many
cases, and their summits always, silver-white with snow.
Ten years before, by the old road, we had seen nothing
of all this, and therefore could now better understand why
the late King of Bavaria found in this region a delightful rest-
ing-place, and spent here a large portion of his time. In-
deed, so fond was that eccentric monarch of this retired sec-
tion of his kingdom, that he constructed here a palace, and


MONASTERY OF E‘I'I‘AL.
THE. PASSION PLAY 233
laid out a park, upon which were expended several millions.
To both park and palace the public has now unrestricted
access, and tourists find here an impressive contrast between
the rude sur-



roundings of the
people of Ober-
Ammergau,only
an hour’s drive
away, and the
magnificence of
a king, whose
madness took
the form of
measureless ex-
travagance, to
end at last in vio-
lent insanity and
a tragic death.
Not far from
the road leading
from the high-
way to the pal-
ace, we came in
sight of an im-
THE PALACE OF LINDERHOP-
posing structure,
which proved to be the old Benedictine monastery of Etta],
founded in 1332. For years this institution exercised a great
religious and intellectual influence over the entire valley. The
villagers of Ober-Ammergau received instruction in its school,
while the library of the monastery, which numbered one hun-
234 THE PASSION PLAY
dred thousand volumes, offered to all a rare opportunity for
intellectual improvement. It was, in fact, the monks of Ettal
who taught the people of this region wood-carving, trained
them in music and the representation of religious dramas, and
in many‘ other ways made them superior to the average moun-
tain peasantry of Bavaria.
But this is now no longer a religious stronghold. True‘,
its buildings still remain as witnesses to its former wealth and
power; but many years ago the monastery was suppressed by
the Government,

and all its in-
mates went forth
into distant
lands. A part of
the old edifice is
now used as the
summer home
of the owner of
the property;
but other por-
tions of it serve


as a brewery,
11m cmrrumon's nonsn.
and over one of
the doors we read with some surprise the legend, “God bless
the beer of Ettal.”
Not far from this historic structure we came upon a peas-
ant, watering his horses at a wayside spring.
“There,” said our coachman, “is one of the characters in
the Passion Play."
“Who is he?" I exclaimed.
“ He! " said the driver, with a laugh. “I am not speaking
of the man, but of one of those horses. It is the one on which
the Roman centurion rides in the scene of the Crucifixion."
I glanced at one of my companions. There was a look of
.mw~D<m<m ZONE ZHEZMO m>w QZ< 2<Q< m0 Dfimqmafl.




-.,
.1~‘
IQ.’
THE PASSION PLAY 237
horror on his face. “Do not be shocked," I said. “I under-
stand your feeling perfectly; ten years ago I felt as you do
now, but—wait and see.”
Half an hour later we suddenly perceived the little village
which has gained such world-wide fame. Above it rose, like
a familiar friend to former visitors, a striking mountain,


I»
a
‘
J
? . i _ , ‘- .- . ' ‘ , .
‘2'5"’: ‘3"’ J"

THE VILLAGE AND THE KOFEL-
called the Kofel, towering two thousand feet above the town
itself. But the mighty cross. which in 1880 had formed so
prominent a feature of the landscape, was missing from its
summit.
“\Vhere is it? " I inquired eagerly.
“Two months ago," was the reply, “it was blown down
in a wild storm; but before next Sunday it will be replaced."
I was rejoiced to learn this fact; for, owing to the peculiar
situation of the mountain, the cross upon its summit seemed
238 THE PASSION PLAY
to be the presiding genius of the place. It glittered in the
dawn an hour before the mists of morning left the valley; and
even after twilight had enfolded Ober-Ammergau itself in a
dusky mantle, that lofty cross, with outstretched arms resplen-
dent in the sunset glow, seems to be giving to the peaceful
vale its benediction.
Passing within the town, our attention was first attracted
by one of its most prominent features—the river—which, in a
flood of crystal clearness, sweeps through the village directly
from the moun-
tains. Bothofits
banks are lined

with houses,
barns, and gar-
dens. Onalmost
every dwelling
. . 71 we beheld a
_ _,,. ‘5- "v . —‘-
l V - _ ‘lg amp-l‘ - - .
‘I ‘a? r‘ _ .7 ,, I. cross, 1nd1cat1ve
of the religious
feeling of the vil-
lagers.


> Another less
STREAM "rr-moucn ‘rm: VILLAGE. Poe t C ’ b u t
equally characteristic, feature, was the collection of stones on
the house-tops, which keep in place the loosely fastened shin-
gles. On one such roof alone we counted one hundred and
ninety-seven of these ornaments. Every such structure,
therefore, if severely shaken, would yield a good-sized ava-
lanche of miniature mountain boulders; and any Ober-Am-
mergau peasant who happened to be passing at the time
would probably be forced against his will to enact the role of
the martyr ‘Stephen.
Some of the more pretentious houses are even startling in
their external appearance. With the exception of ‘their
THE PASSION PLAY 239
wooden roofs, they are usually made of cement, covered
with whitewashed plaster, and on these pure white walls
we saw a strange
variety of frescoes,
some pretty, others
grotesque, but
most of them re-
ligious in their sen-
timent. There is
in these decora-
tions, as we have
hinted, a curious
blending of the
sacred and the
secular. Thus,
while on one hotel
we saw portrayed
in rainbow hues


FRESCOED WALLS.
some Bible scenes, together with incidents in the lives of
saints, upon another we found depicted, as a most seductive
object-lesson, a jovial peasant with a glass of beer, apparently


“ GESUNDHEIT! "
calling out, “Gesundheit !’ ’—“your
health! "—to the passer—by.
“You see," I said to a com-
panion who was paying his first visit
to the place, “these people have
artistic tastes, which are sometimes
thus crudely shown in frescoes, but
are displayed with excellent judg-
ment in the costumes used by them
in the Play.”
“Costumes?” echoed my friend; “what have these peas-
ants to do with the costumes, except to wear them? Of
course they are made in Munich or Vienna.
Y’
240 THE PASSION PLAY
“Only the bare material is bought there," I replied. “The
costumes for this year, valued at several thousand dollars,
were all made by the villagers themselves, in imitation of old
paintings and

engravings, and
under the di-
rection of the
teacher in their
school of sculp-
ture—which, by
the way, is the
very building
we are now ap-
proaching. ”
“The school
of sculpture! " re-


peated my com-
THE SCHOOL OF SCULPTURE.
panion, “What
do you mean by that, in such a place as this? Am I losing
my senses, or have you lost yours?”
“Incredible as it may seem," I answered, “there is in
this secluded spot a permanent school where wood-carving
is taught. It has long been supported by the villagers at
no little pecuniary sacrifice. It has had at times as many as
two hundred and fifty pupils. For recollect that sculpture in
wood is still the chief occupation of these people; and Joseph
Maier, who enacts the part of Christ, and the Judas, the
Peter, the Pilate, and many of the other leading characters,
are really artists, their productions being now sent (of course,
mainly from their associations with the Passion Play) to every
part of Europe and America, and even to Australia.”
While I was thus speaking, there had emerged from a
neighboring house a young man about nineteen years of age.
“That," said our Coachman, in a whisper, “is St. John."



HEROD.
ANNAS.
SAMUEL.
MOSES.
THE PASSION PLAY 243
I made a sign to my photographer, and pulled the driver's
coat-tail, as a hint for him to stop. The youth approached.
His face was an agreeable one. His hair was parted in the
middle and fell to the right and left upon his shoulders.
“Pardon me," said one of our party, “but I am told that
you will assume this year the part of St. John."
“Yes," he replied, his face flushing with pleasure.
“But,” I continued, “the programme states that your
name is Rendl. Are you the son of Thomas Rendl, who
acted the part of Pilate so admirably ten years ago?"
“I am," was the reply; “and he will personate that char-
acter again this season.”
“Some of us had the pleasure of meeting your father in
I880,H I rejoined, “and, if agreeable, we should like to call
on him to-morrow."
Meantime I glanced inquiringly at the photographer.
“All right," he mur-
mured.
This signified that “St.
John's" portrait had been
taken unawares, and in a
moment more we were driv-
ing on.


Soon after this conver-
sation I paused to note the ._ -
little house which, I was i i
told, was the home of Pilate
and St. john—in other
words, of Thomas Rendl and
his son.
51'. JOHN-
“V‘I/ell," exclaimed my
friend, who had been looking about him with a dazed expres-
sion, “I see that I have thus far been making a mistake. Up
to this time I had supposed that Ober-Ammergau was an
244 THE PASSION PLAY
ordinary mountain village. But I now perceive that in many
respects it is unique."
“By the way," he presently resumed, “what has become
of the man who took the part of St. John ten years ago?H
“He is now playing the role of Judas Iscariot," was the
reply. My friend shuddered.
“Furthermore," I added, “either through accident or
design, ‘Judas’ is the agent here this year for several parties
of excursion

tourists." My
friend took out
his handkerchief
and mopped his
brow.
“The trouble
with you,H I said
to him, as we
drove through
the'main street
of the town, “is
that you have

not yet adapted
THE HOME OF PILATE AND ST. JOHN.
yourself to your
environment. You secretly expect to see these actors of the
Passion Play, clad in their Oriental robes, standing around
the streets in picturesque positions. St. John in shirt-sleeves
startles you. The Roman centurion's horse drawing a load
of wood inspires you with horror; and Herod playing with his
babies seems entirely out of place. You are experiencing in
a higher degree the disenchantment that you feel in seeing on
the street, in citizen's dress, with his wife leaning on his arm,
the actor who an hour before had electrified you as Othello.
Of course, one way to see the Passion Play would be to come
here on Sunday morning, and leave directly after the perform-
THE PASSION PLAY 245

ance. But in this way one would see nothing of the village;
and to view the Passion Play without the village would be like
seeing a diamond without its setting. The great marvel of the
Ober-Ammergau spectacle is to behold these pious mountain-
eers faithfully carrying out the vow of their forefathers, and
under that great inspiration rising from the farm and workshop
worthily to portray the historic characters connected with the
life of Christ."
Thus speaking, we had approached the village church,—a
weather-beaten structure, above which glittered in the sun-
light a richly gilded cross.
!,
“ Stop for a moment, exclaimed my friend, “till in the
shadow of this sacred edifice you answer me one question:
What is done with all the money gained by these perform-
ances? Are not these people
merce- I . j.-
nary in this
busi- ‘ " ~ ', ness.?"
246 THE PASSION PLAY
“That is easily and satisfactorily explained," was the
answer. “The money received is divided into four parts.
The first, and much the largest, share, is used to defray the
expenses of building the theatre, and of providing suitable
stage appliances and costumes for the performers; another
part is laid aside as a permanent village-improvement fund;
a third share is devoted to the church and to the poor of the
community; while the remainder is apportioned among some
_ \ seven hundred
' actors. In 1880,
\ Joseph Maier re-
,, - I; ceived for his
' whole summer's
work, from May
to October, about
two hundred dol-
lars. Certainly
these villagers are
not actuated by
mercenary mo-
tives; for re-
peated offers of


THE CHURCH.
large sums of
money have been made them to perform their drama in vari-
ous parts of Europe, and even in America; but these have
always been emphatically declined."
While this explanation was being given, we had approached
the churchyard, where we beheld a fine bronze bust erected to
the memory of the pastor of the village, Father Daisen-
berger, who died in 1883. This worthy priest devoted his
whole life to the mental and spiritual elevation of his people.
It was he who persuaded them to leave the churchyard
where, until then, the Play had been performed, and to build
an open-air theatre with a suitable stage. Not only did he

VERONICA. PHILIP.
THADDIEUS.
BARTHOLOMEW. SIMON THE CYRENIAN.
THE PASSION PLAY 249


carefully revise the text of
the original Passion Play,
but he also composed for
his parishioners some ad-
mirable dramas on religious
subjects, and carefully
adapted to their use a num-
ber of the plays of Schiller,
and even the Antigone of
Sophocles, that they might
thus acquire greater dra-
matic training and rise to a
high standard of apprecia-
tion.


CHRIST AND THE BELOVED 0156111141.
(A ry Sclu’fl'er)
True, therefore, is his simple epitaph: “His works do fol-
low him” ; for not alone do the inhabitants of Ober-Ammer-
gau, every ten years, enact the Passion Play; but, at frequent
intervals, winter and summer, on a perma-
lines:
FATHER DAISBNBERGBR.
nent stage, they still perform the secular
plays adapted for them by their pastor.
The spirit of this worthy priest, and his
belief in the peculiar duty which this village
had been set apart to do for Christ and for
His church are well exemplified in his own
“ Praise be to God! He hath this vale created
To show to man the glory of His name;
And these wide bills the Lord hath consecrated,
Where He His love eternal may proclaim."
The oldest text-book of the Passion Play
now extant bears the date 1662 and is in the
possession of the Biirgermeister of the vil-
lage. It shows that the performances in those early days
must have been very crude and realistic, for the Devil was
250 THE PASSION PLAY
then one of the prominent actors, and would dance about
Judas while the latter was being tempted, and finally rush
upon Iscariot’s body, attended by a retinue of imps when
the betrayer had
hanged himself.
In those days
also, just before
the play com-
menced, a mes-
senger would
rush upon the
stage with a let-
ter from Luci-
fer, “the Prince
of Hell," re-
questing the

audience not to
be affected by
the Play, but to make all the disturbance they could during
the performance, promising to reward them well when they


CHA RACTERISTIC DWELLINGS.
should subsequently make him a visit! But those grotesque
features of the Passion Play have gradually disappeared, as
priest after priest revised the text and adapted the old drama
to the tastes and ideas of modern times.
Turning at length from the churchyard, we fell at once
from the ideal to the practical. We were the earliest visitors
of the season of 1890—a small advance-guard of the approach-
ing army—the first drops of the expected shower. True,
hundreds of tickets had been bought and rooms engaged for
weeks in advance. Thousands, it was said, were on the way.
But we had arrived. For ten long years the little hamlet had
been almost lifeless and forgotten. Now it was once more
quivering with excitement, and, like a comet at its periodic
visitation, was sweeping from its long obscurity into the
.mqmgma. NIH. OZ_MM,HZM .HwHmIO
I.
I
‘o-|¢"‘


t .l'bv.‘ ‘M... H






THE PASSION PLAY 253
vision of mankind. The villagers, therefore, looked on us as
the first tangible proofs of the great change.
Accordingly, our entry almost equalled that of royalty.
Nothing was too good for us. Our host and hostess were
especially elated at having the first visitors assigned to them.
Hence it was with considerable difficulty that we avoided
being “killed by kindness.
I!
The utmost tact, for example,
was necessary to escape being overwhelmed with gifts of hot
sausages, served like Huyler's caramels, “fresh every hour.H
Moreover, at the least sign from us that we were thirsty,
Bavarian beer would flow ad lz'bz'l‘zmz.
“Welcomel" exclaimed our landlady, her round face
wreathed in smiles; “our one room with a carpet shall be the



jig—Q
Z


.hdliirin llrslaumnl. '1 ;
I: in: n“
lullgllrlsl‘llflwfiilltlllllt'. I '
. _, & i ,
5i
1‘ I 53;‘ 1 I l'
1» ..
A STREET IN’ OBER-AMMERGAU.
lecturer's; the lawyer shall be sandwiched between our warm-
est feather-beds; and as for the photographer, he shall have
a room, whose nearness to the stable has for its compensation
254 THE PASSION PLAY
a view of a four-footed actor in the Passion Play,--the ass,
used in the entry into Jerusalem."
Next morning (we had come here several days before the
first performance) I strolled out through the town for new
impressions. My steps first led me to a colossal group of
statuary placed on a hillside just above the village. This was
presented to the people of Ober-Ammergau by the King of
Bavaria in 1875, as a token of his appreciation of their piety.
r i 3 John, which forms part of the group,
5» n"
l t '
The history of this work of art is


singularly tragic. As the statue of St.
>...
\\*>\
e‘ _
U


was being drawn up the old mountain-
road, in places perilously steep, it
toppled over from the wagon, and
fell upon the sculptor and his assist-
ant, crushing the former to death
instantly, while the latter died the
next day in great agony. There
seemed to me, therefore, some-
thing almost repulsive in this fig-
ure of the favorite disciple. Not-
withstanding its beauty I felt as
if the insensate stone had been a
A ROYAL GIFI'.
moral agent, and had committed
parricide in thus taking the life of the author of its being.
Descending once more into the town. I seated myself at
the door of our little inn and looked about me at the village
life. Before me was a wooden trough, above which rose a
spout in the form of a pump. No handle to this was neces-
sary, for from it flowed a constant stream of cool, pure moun-
tain water. Thither, at intervals of five or ten minutes, all
day long, came the people of the neighborhood: a woman
with an empty pitcher, a laborer to quench his thirst, a boy
to rinse some beer-mugs, or else a little maiden on her way
THE PASSION PLAY 255
to school, to wet the sponge suspended from her slate. Al-
most invariably these people bowed, and wished me “Gutmz
Tag. Their courtesy and kind-heartedness were very
pleasing.
It is a remarkable fact, that, notwithstanding ‘the crowds
that come weekly all summer long from every land to witness



EN FRONT OF THE HOTEL.
something done nowhere else but here, these villagers of
Ober-Ammergau have not become self-conceited and extor~
tionate. There are but few exceptions to the rule that they
are unspoiled, honest, and obliging. No doubt, if the great
influx of rich tourists continued long, the character of the vil-
lage would soon change; but nine years’ enforced seclusion
from the world affords an antidote to such short-lived and
amazing fame.
Across the street, beyond the fountain, was a frescoed
256 THE PASSION PLAY
house, which, although built two hundred years ago, has still
a substantial appearance. It is the home of Johann Lang,
who, aside from his official rank as Biirgermeister, is one of
the leading men
I , . in Ober-Ammer-
i‘ _ -~ :5. ‘- gau. In 1890,

not only were the
finances of the
Passion Play con-
trolled by him,
but he shared
with Maier the
care of issuing
tickets and assign-

ing rooms to all
the thousands
who applied for
them. At every
hour of the day


UNDER THE KOPEL-
we saw a stream
of letters, telegrams, or messages pouring in upon him. Some
one appeared to be always going into or out of his house;
and frequently a group of ten or twenty persons would assem-
ble there, dissatisfied with the rooms assigned to them and
clamorous for a change. The strain upon him must at times
have been severe enough to ruffle the most serene of men;
but he seemed able to reconcile all the discordant elements
and at the same time to control himself. Upon his shoulders,
too, in 1890, rested the responsibility of keeping harmony in
the ranks of the performers. How difficult that must have
been! Imagine what jealousies and bickerings there must be
in such a little mountain village. It is true, the principal act-
ors are selected by the people; but even after that is settled,
the lesser troubles and minor annoyances must be endless.

NATHAN.
MARY MAGDALENE.
MARTHA.
NICODEMUS.
BARABBAS.
THE PASSION PLAY 259
The assignment of the parts is made by a committee of
forty-five villagers presided over by the priest, and the elec-
tion day is in the last week in December of the year preceding
the decennial performance. Before making their choice the
members of the committee attend mass in the church, thereby
indicating, and no doubt realizing, that what they do will be
done under the influence of the purest motives and for the
good of their religion. Each player is then required to rehearse
his part at least four times a week, and the final rehearsal
begins months before the opening of the dramatic season. In
the year of my second visit, the Btirgermeister was himself
stage-manager, and had trained a number of subordinate
actors in their parts nearly every day for at least six months
before the Passion Play was presented, and was in all matters
of dispute the ultimate authority. Yet, it is not to be won-
dered at that he should have been appointed to the post; for
he first acted in
the Passion Play

when only four
years old, and the
representation of
1890 marked the
fourth decennial
festival in which
he took the part of
the high priest,
Caiaphas.
One day, while

strolling through

the village, I
"rm: Bijncizmvrms‘rsn's RESIDENCE.
stopped before a
house upon whose wall was an artistic decoration of unusual
beauty. It was the residence of the Lechners—father and
son. Both are prominent personages in Ober-Ammergau.
260 THE PASSION PLAY
The son is considered the best artist in the village, and is
one of the principal singers in the Passion Play; while the
father is the famous George Lechner, whose role of Judas in
1880 was one of the most remarkable in the drama. I had
a great desire to talk with this retired veteran, for ten years
before I had deemed him, with the exception of Maier, the
most talented of all the actors.
Stepping, therefore, to his door, I asked if I might see
him. He presently appeared. Though more than seventy
years of age, he had not changed materially during the past
ten years. I recognized him, therefore, at a glance, and
telling him in a few words of the pleasure he had given me
ten years before, I asked him if he would appear this season.

VILLAGE HOUSES.
THE PASSION PLAY 261


“Yes,” he replied; “I shall appear,
and that is about all. The ‘Judas,’ of
four decades has now become the insig-
nificant ‘ Simeon of Bethany! ' Of
course," he added, “I do not com-
plain. Es kamz nz'c/zr auders 362'”. Only
I feel like an old crippled soldier within
sound of battle. I have in the house
a portrait of myself taken in l880, in
the character of Judas. \Vould you
. like to see it?”
GEM“ LECHNER' Of course I assured him that it
would afford me great pleasure. “Can you bear to see the
part played now by your successor?" I presently inquired.
“No,” he answered quickly; “it recalls to me too vividly
the days when I was young and strong."
“Ten years

ago," I remind- ;
ed him, “you
told me that you
did not like the
role of the Be-
trayer, and did
not wish your
son to follow in
your footsteps."
“True," he
replied, ‘ ‘ it was


a thankless part; . ,
but now that I ""2 "(m “HUD”
no longer have the strength to act, I see that I took pride
and pleasure in portraying it."
On Saturday, the day before the performance, the church
bell awoke me at an early hour, and I beheld the people in
, ‘
, i
) .
I \
262 THE PASSION PLAY
great numbers on their way to
mass. I followed them into the
richly decorated church. Perfect
order prevailed. In the front
pews were seated all the children,
the boys on the right, the girls
on the left; and at the end of
the service they marched out to-
' gether, two by two, with folded
hands, preceding the adults.
Music was rendered by an orches-
tra consisting of a comet, violin,
and organ. I noticed that Joseph

Maier and the Bi'irgermeister sat
ma jUDAS or 1880.
in the same pew; and when the
priest passed down the aisle, dispensing from his moistened
brush the consecrated water, he paused a moment before
Maier, appar-

_"
in‘
ently offering up
for him a special J
prayer. \,
Having re-
turned from the
church, as I was
seated at the
window writing,
I suddenly heard
t h e d i s t a n t
strains of a band



of music, and saw
the people point- .
RAISING THE CROSS ON THE KOFEL-
ing toward the
summit of the Kofel. At first I could not understand the
cause of the excitement, but by the aid of a field-glass I soon
' t
I l
I s
JAMES THE YOUNGER.
CHRIST.
JAMES THE ELDER.
(joszra MAI an)


SIMON.
MATTH EW.
THE PASSION PLAY 265
perceived that men were raising on the mountain the new
cross, in place of the one blown down some months before.
The mammoth emblem was fully forty feet in height, and
was covered with zinc, so that,
when the sun shone upon it, it was
visible for miles down the valley.
When the new cross was firmly
secured, the sound of a small can-
non, fired on the summit, pro-
claimed the fact to the villagers.
I was not surprised to see the
satisfaction that beamed from
every face at sight of that
most welcome restora-
tion; for the people of
Ober-Ammergau are
almost superstitious in
their belief concerning
the influence of that
cross upon the Kofel.
The dress of the young
mountaineers who had per-
formed this task was pecul-
far. They wore no stockings,

their feet being thrust, uncov-
NATHANIEL.
ered, into heavy shoes. But
over the lower part of the leg was drawn a thick woolen sock,
leaving the knee and ankle bare. The trousers, usually green
in color, did not reach the knee. The vest and jacket were
adorned with silver buttons, while their green Tyrolese hats
were decorated with feathers or bright flowers. In fact,
stalwart and handsome men were these young villagers of
Ober-Ammergau, and on their return from the mountain they
were welcomed not only by the band of music which I had
266 THE PASSION PLAY


heard, but also by a company of village maidens, dressed in
picturesque costumes. Thus escorted by melody and beauty
they re-entered their hamlet in triumph.
On the Friday afternoon before the performance, in re-
sponse to an invitation, I made my way to the house of the
“Christus' '— Joseph
‘' Maier. In 1880 1
i had made this man’s
acquaintance, and
had been profoundly
impressed with his
modest manner and
unfeigned piety. In
1890 I saw no cause
V to alter my opinion
of him. Yet, if per-
‘ sistent flattery could
spoil a man like
Maier, he would long
ago have been
spoiled. Fornotonly
have multitudes gath-
ered about his house
merely to gain a glimpse of
him, but he has received in-
THE YOUNG MOUNTAINEERS.
numerable letters, expressing
lavish adulation of his genius. One of these I had the privi-
lege of reading. It was‘ from a distinguished actor in Munich,
who assured the peasant of Ober-Ammergau that the hour
when he took his arm and walked him through his mountain
village was one of the proudest of his life. It is said (and it
is not improbable) that Maier has sometimes had to seclude
himself after the Play, to avoid being almost worshiped by
some of the Bavarian peasants who have been so wrought
THE PASSION PLAY 267
upon that they well-nigh identify him with Christ himself.
What is it, therefore, that has kept him always modest and
retiring? It is undoubtedly the way in which he looks upon
his work. He feels that the praise which he receives is due,
not to himself, but to the part which he assumes; and so
he said to me impressively: “It is not only the greatest honor
of my life to represent the character of jesus; it is for me also
the most solemn of religious
duties."
I was astonished and pained
to see, not long ago, in the col-
umns of a New York paper, the
statement that most of the peo-
ple of that city who went to
see the Ober-Ammergau Pas-
sion Play in 1880 discovered
there no sign of reverence in
the parts presented, and were
more struck by the capacity of
Maier to absorb beer, than by
his pious aspirations. This

seems to me incredible, and I
JOSEPH MAIER.
cannot understand how any one
can be so lacking in ability to discern simple piety and intrinsic
merit. As for his private character, that joseph Maier may
drink beer is very probable: he would not be a German if he
did not do so. But that he is (as the newspaper account
would imply) a coarse, sensual man, I can pronounce to be
unqualifiedly false. This I do, not as a defender of religion,
nor as a Catholic or a Protestant, but simply a man who hears
a worthy person slandered in his absence. I say it the more
positively, too, not only from what I myself saw of Maier,
but also because a literary friend of mine who lodged nearly
the whole summer at his house, and is certainly qualified to
268 THE PASSION PLAY
judge of his private life, represents him as a thoroughly refined.
modest, sensitive man, pure and blameless in life, unselfish,
and devoted to his family.
After the lapse of ten years it was with mingled pleasure
and curiosity that I again conversed with Maier.
True, the lines in his face had in the interval somewhat
deepened, and he modestly said that he was now too old for
the part; but his hair and beard were still jet-black, his tall
form was as erect, his step was as light, and his gestures were
as graceful as before.
However, he looked weary, and said that he was ex-
hausted by the arduous work of preparation. In my first
interview with him, moreover, I thought he exhibited consid-
erable reluctance at coming once more into the light of world-
wide fame and criticism.
One change in my surroundings made me realize forcibly



CHRIST AND HIS DISCIPLES AT BETHANY.
that I myself was ten years older. In 1880, in that very
street, I had seen Maier's children run to meet their father,
and had watched him catch them up and hold them to his
breast, while his wife looked on from the door-step with a
happy smile. Now I perceived that the small children of ten
so.
" .\

CHRIST DISPUTING WITH THE DOCTORS.
.~'. (Haj’maunl.
0g.-
THE PASSION PLAY 27r
years before had grown to be tall, buxom maidens, who evi~
dently took upon themselves the care of housekeeping, to
spare as far as possible their mother.
I asked Frau Maier if it was true that, just as she had
done in 1880, she would refrain from attending the Passion
Play.
“As before, I shall only see the first part," she replied.
“After the scene
of the Last Sup-
per I can bear to

I‘".
hear no more,
and come back
to my house
alone." This is
not strange; for

she is evidently
a woman of the
gentlest heart
and finest sensi-
bilities, and
would be tor-
tured by the
sight of the real-

BY THE RIVER.
istic sufferings,
and finally the death which, apparently, awaits her husband
on the stage.
What a transformation takes place in Ober-Ammergau on
the Saturday preceding a performance! A multitude of
peasants from north, south, east, and west, keep pouring into
the town all day long in groups of three or four, having shoes
in their hands and umbrellas strapped on their backs—and
sometimes even carrying a feather-bed wrapped around a
pole.
These people have been tramping over the mountains
272 THE PASSION PLAY
from their homes fifty or sixty miles away. For them the
journey has the sacredness of a religious pilgrimage. To see
the Passion Play is the greatest event in their lives, and they
would make almost any sacrifice to witness it.
On the Saturday which we spent here, there suddenly
appeared toward nightfall a train of landaus, wagons, and
omnibuses, all heralded by cracking whips or echoing horns.
The streets, so quiet but an hour before, were quickly swarm-
ing with human-
ity. From the
variety of lan-
guages that filled





the air, one might
have fancied that
the Kofel was the
Tower of Babel.
Most of the visit-
ors wore an anx-
ious look, like
] ' ‘ _


I'illrlwl mu iuiirililu'n Sign.
1: "
F‘ j ‘' persons searching
' for lost baggage;
' and many who
. had tempted Fate
by engaging noth-
ing in advance,
rushed frantically from house to house inquiring for beds.
We looked upon all this with sympathy, of course, but also
with a wicked sense of superiority, arising from the fact that
our own rooms and tickets were secure. It is true the accom-
modations for visitors at Ober-Ammergau in 1890 were better
and more numerous than ever before; and yet, so crowded
was the town, that, on looking out of my window at daybreak,
Sunday morning, I discovered a gentleman completing his
toilet in a carriage where he had spent the night.
ONE OF THE HOTELS.
THE PASSION PLAY 27.?»
Two incidents of that day can
never be forgotten. As I was
trying to write in all this hubbub,
I suddenly heard beneath my
window the word Chicago. In
that remote Bavarian valley, this
name produced on me the effect
that the word “Spaghetti" does
on an Italian.
I sprang to the casement and
looked out. In the yard below
stood a young man talking to my
friend.
“I first heard of the Passion
Play,” he was saying, “through
one of Mr. Stoddard's lectures in Chicago. Ever since then
I have been anxious to visit Ober-Ammergau in 1890, and
here I am. Did
you ever hear
him? "
"Alas, yes,"


cmus'r. (Carm'cehus)

replied my
friend; “and,
what is more,
here at my side
is his photogra-
pher, and Mr.
Stoddard him-
self is upstairs
preparing to in-
flict another lec-
ture on the pub-
lic."
“He never

1 SPRANG TO THE CASEMENT AND LOOKED OUT.
274 THE PASSION PLAY

does anything but lecture me,” grumbled the photogra-
phen
“Gentlemen," I called softly from the window, “you had
better put an end to this exchange of confidences. The lec-
turer will be down directly. Waiter, bring at once refresh-
ments for four."
Beside the trough, in front of our hotel, there had rested,
. undisturbed by any German
‘ child, for three long days, a
l v good-sized water-pail.
On Saturday, at three
o'clock in the afternoon,
an American family en-
tered the little inn. Five
minutes later I thought
I heard a familiar mel-
ody outside, and looking
from the window, be-
held a characteristic
specimen of Young
America standing erect
in the pail, and, to the
amazement of the peace-
ful villagers, sailing tri-
umphantly up and down
the trough, whistling
meantime with all his might
the strains of Yankee Doodle!
That evening, to escape the tumult
YOUNG AMERICA AT 0858- -
AMMERGAU. 1n the town, we walked to an ad-
joining height, and stood in silence to survey the valley.
The curtain of the night was falling on that larger stage we
call the world. Below us, in the gathering darkness, was the
little town, where, on the following day, the story of the Son
eassssto R..." an...“ H. m .wmmmmisi ems e5. .5550

THE PASSION PLAY 277

of Man would be
portrayed with
a reality and
pathos which,
we well knew,
would be over-
whelming. At
that great height
the dwellings of
the villagers ap-
peared as small
as earthly things
appear beside

the awful mys-
_ LOOKING DOWN ON OBER-AMMERGAU.
terlesof Heaven.
9
“How is it possible,’ exclaimed my friend, “that simple
peasants in the first place
can understand, and, sec-
ondly, can represent with
any skill such a stupendous
subject as the Passion Play?
Apparently, it is as far above
them as is this hill on which
we stand.”
“Call to mind,
swered, "the face we saw
Q,
I an-
this morning at the foun-
tain,—that of the man who
takes the part of Thomas—
and remember that the
principal characters in this
drama are not common peas-
ants. The sacred play is

moms, not alone the central feature
278 THE PASSION PLAY
in the history of this village: it is the one great event in their
individual lives. Toward certain parts in it they gradually
progress from childhood to old age, and finally enact those
characters with wonderful enthusiasm and religious fervor.
None but the people of Ober-Ammergau itself may participate
in the Passion Play,—and of them only those whose lives are


w“ ‘144.4% *1
R‘i-W‘fi, -. '
‘it:

GOING TO THE PERFORMANCE.
reasonably blameless. Not to be worthy to appear at all is,
therefore, a disgrace; while to enact the part of Christ is
the greatest honor of which they can conceive.H
On Sunday morning, at a quarter before eight o'clock,
we approached the theatre, in company with about four thou-
sand people.
Visitors to Ober‘Ammergau are, of course, liable to en-
counter stormy weather, which will seriously detract from
their enjoyment of the occasion, although the play goes on in


THE PASSION PLAY 279
spite of tempests. I, however, was wonderfully fortunate.
The weather could not have been finer. The sky was cloud-
less, and the atmosphere so clear that mountains, miles away,
seemed close at hand. Moreover, the air, though cool, was
warm enough to make a sojourn out of doors a positive de-
light. It was the realization of the poet's lines:
“ Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky."
I noticed that the crowd itself was much more orderly and
quiet than ten

years before.


The cause was j
evident. Then
only the best seats
had been re-
served, while now
each place in the
great building had
its number and
corresponding
ticket. Accord-
ingly, the bum-
blest peasant had no need of hurry or solicitude. Above the
wooden wall we could discern a part of the interior—espe-
OU'TSIDE THE ENCLOSURE.
cially a pediment decorated with a fresco representing Christ
surrounded by the poor and suffering, and bearing the inscrip-
tion: “Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy-laden,
and I will give you rest."
But it was only on entering the building that we beheld
its decorations to advantage. Upon the curtain were finely
painted figures of Moses, Jeremiah, and Isaiah. To the right
and left of these were passageways which represent streets in
Jerusalem. Two houses in the foreground typified respec-
tively, the dwellings of Pilate, the Roman Governor, and
280 THE PASSION PLAY
Annas, the high priest. The greater part of the stage was
entirely open to the sky, the actors being thus fully ex-
posed to sun and rain.
About half the seats
in the auditorium were


covered with a wooden
roof. From the first,
the impression pro-
duced was remarkable. On
every face there was a look
of eager expectation; and
as we sat, awaiting the
opening of the play, the
view of the mountains
and the valley, and of
the waving trees, blue
THE STAGE AND CURTAIN OF 1890.
sky, and singing birds,
gave to the scene a charming air of freshness and reality.
“ How clearly on my inner sense are borne
The fresh fair beauty of the mountain morn,
And cries of flocks afar, and, mixed with these,
The green delightful tumult of the trees.
The birds that o’er us from the upper day
Threw flitting shade, and went their airy way,—
The bright-robed chorus and the silent throng,
And that first burst and sanctity of song!”
Among those who were then behind the scenes, awaiting
their duties for the day, was the daughter of Biirgermeister
Lang, who was to assume the part of Mary, the Mother of
Jesus. No better choice could have been made. Before I
knew who she was, or even that she would appear in the Passion
.722 ozoo> no; EC. oz< momma


THE PASSION PLAY 283

Play at all, I was
impressed with
her sweet, intelli-
gent face and
pleasant voice, as
she emerged from
the doorway of
her father's house,


and paused to an- . i
swer, in his place, a few important questions.
THE STAGE OF 1880.
In 1880 this
difficult part was not well taken; but in 1890 its rendition was
most satisfactory.
Every scene in which the young imper-
sonator of that sacred character appeared still lingers in my
memory among the ineffaceable recollections of the Play.
!__ _—_.._*%—_E—__ .7 .
l
l
l
l
l
l
l

It is a remarkable
fact that the Virgin
in the Passion Play
is, from first to last,
represented only as
a woman,_the lov-
ing, tender, broken-
hearted Mother of
This is the
more remarkable be-
Jesus.
cause these Bavarian
peasants are devout
Catholics;
but the theological
Roman
presentation of Mary
would of course be
out of place in this
portrayal of her
earthly life, and
hence, with admir-
284 THE PASSION PLAY
able good judgment it has been omitted from the drama.
Another attractive character in the drama was the St.
John. In this, too, there was great improvement over the
performance of 1880. True, the role of the beloved disciple
was not very prominent, but everything he said or did was
admirably rendered. His great affection for his Master; his
grief at the appall-
ing tragedy, which
as a faithful friend
and follower he must
behold; above all,
his tenderness to
Mary, when he
called her “Mother,"
obeying thus the
thrilling injunction
of Him who hung
upon the Cross; all
these were beautiful
expressions at once
of a delicate nature
and a loving heart.
“I venture to
make a prophecy,"
whispered a friend
during one of these

scenes: “Ten years
from now, this young St. John will be selected for the char-
acter of Christ.” '
Another memorable face among the personators at Ober-
Ammergau was that of Peter. Apparently, no one could
look the character more perfectly than did the worthy peas-
ant who assumed that part. Clad in his Oriental mantle, as he
stood in the open air, with the sunlight falling on his silvery
TH E PASSION PLAY
285
hair and beard, he seemed
a living reproduction of Peter,
as painted by so many artists
in the history of Christianity.
Since, therefore, in addition to
his looks, he is a faithful and
intelligent actor, it is not
strange that the festival of 1890
marked the fourth time, that,
at intervals of ten years, he
has been selected for the part.
It was precisely eight o’clock
when a cannon-shot woke
the echoes in the neighboring
mountains. It was the signal


CHRIST.
( C araccz')
As in an ordinary theatre, the
for the drama to begin.
leader of the orchestra raised his baton, and the first strains

of a solemn overture floated
out upon the quiet air.
This was the visible prelude
to the Play; yet there was
one unseen by us, for, dur-
ing the performance of the
overture, all the principal
actors were assembled be-
hind the curtain, together
with their pastor, engaged
in silent prayer.
The music of the Pas-
sion Play as now performed
was written by an Ober-
Ammergau schoolmaster.
He was a man of remark-
able musical ability, and
286 THE PASSION PLAY
many of the chorals in his com-
position are dignified and noble,
while, as a whole, the music of
the drama is in perfect harmony
with the simple, sublime, and
pathetic scenes which it accom-
panies.
At length, the preliminary
music being concluded, a com-
pany of twenty-four persons
made their appearance, and
moved with slow and dignified
steps across the stage, to stand


there in a slightly curving line.
we LEADER OF THE ckoRus. They representgd a Company
of guardian spirits, who through the entire Play were to per-
form the duty of the old Greek Chorus in the Athenian drama;
that is to say, their part was to announce and to explain its
various scenes and tableaux, as well as to impress upon the
audience their moral lesson.
Their dress was simple but imposing, like their theme.


THE CHORUS-
Over long white tunics, girdled at the waist, were draped
mantles of exquisite color, bordered with silver braid. Like

IN GETHSEMANE.
\
a..\
I.‘
THE PASSION PLAY 289
all the costumes
used in the Pas-
sion Play, these
must be made of
fine material, for
daylight makes
the use of tin-


sel and cheap
q u i t e TABLEAU OF JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN.
impossible. There are in the Passion Play eighteen acts and
twenty-five tableaux, before and after each of which the Chorus
sings. These tableaux are regarded as no less essential fea-
tures of the drama than the acts themselves; their object
vbeing to explain to the spectator the Divine Plan of Redemp-
tion, as accepted and implicitly believed in by the villagers.
It will be seen, then, that the Passion Play not only rep-
resents the actual events connected with Christ’s life, but


TABLEAU OF ADAM AND EVE OUTSIDE OF PARADISE.
also calls to mind the types and prophecies of those events
supposed to be revealed in the Old Testament. Accord-
ingly, when the choristers have sung a few explanatory stan-
zas, they fall back gracefully to the right and left, while the
290 THE PASSION PLAY


curtain rises to reveal the tableau, which, it is thought,
typifies the act that is to follow. Hence, the symbolic
groups, dramatic scenes, and sacred songs glide one into
another all day long without the slightest interruption.
Thus a tableau of the miraculous fall of manna in the
wilderness precedes the scene of the Last Supper; a repre-
sentation of the despair of Cain over the murder of his
brother, Abel, typifies the act where Judas, in his remorse,
takes his own life; the scene of Tobias taking leave of his
parents prefigures Christ’s departure from Bethany; the
group of Adam and his
by the sweat of the brow
foreshadows Christ's an-
guish in Gethsemane; and
young Isaac bearing the
altar-wood up Mount
Moriah is emblematic of
Jesus bearing His cross to
Calvary. _
Still another of these ta-
bleaux portrays Joseph sold
some. To JERUSALEM.
into captivity by his brethren, and is symbolic of the betrayal
of Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. Some of these scenes are
wonderful,—first, from the multitude of participants (num-
bering, as they frequently do, three or four hundred per-
sons); and secondly, from the statue-like repose maintained
by even the little children two or three years of age. In one
of these tableaux there were perhaps a hundred children;
yet through a powerful glass we were unable to detect in
them the slightest movement, even when fully three minutes
had elapsed between the rising and the falling of the curtain.
Moreover, in 1890, I was even more impressed than ten years
before with the astonishing rapidity with which these groups
family earning their bread '
TH E PASSION PLAY
291
were formed. Each individual man,
woman, and child must move directly
to his place with the precision of
machinery, for otherwise such crowds
could not be grouped in half an hour's
time. The management in this respect
is nothing less than marvelous, for
not a sound is heard behind the cur-
tain, though sometimes nearly half
the inhabitants of the village are
assembled there.
But nowI was naturally impatient
for the first act of the Play itself.


JOSEPH OP ARI II-IATHEA.
Scarcely had the chorus left the stage, after its first appear-
ance, when the air was filled with shouts of rejoicing, and
down the streets of Jerusalem I saw a vast multitude of men,
women, and children eagerly advancing, waving palm-branches




THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.
and shouting
“Hosanna!” as
the Christ made
his
entry
triumphal
into the
city riding upon
an ass. Only a
small portion of
this multitude
can be repre-
sented in a pho-
tograph, for if
the whole stage were portrayed, the figures would be micro-
scopic; but such a picture may at least suggest what the real
scene must be.
If it be thrilling to behold upon an ordinary
stage (as in the play of Julius Casar) a moving multitude of
fifty actors, imagine the effect produced by five or six hundred
292 THE PASSION PLAY


men, women, and children, all clad
in Oriental costumes, singing and
shouting together in the vivid sun-
light and under the open sky. One
fancies that he is witnessing an
actual procession in the Holy City.
The face of the Christ himself
who has made this triumphal entry
is well worthy of study. Through-
out the drama one sees upon that
countenance many different expres-
sions, but they are all full of inter-
CBRISL (MM/cm’) est. One of the most striking is
that which his face wears when he
enters the Temple and looks upon the desecration of His
Father's house. His features express indignation, but indig-
nation mingled with grief. In the whole course of the Passion
Play there is perhaps nothing that puts the delicate apprecia-
tion of Maier more to the test than the scene in the Temple
with the money-changers. Think of the opportunity for rant-
ing and extravagance when he overturns the tables of those
who sell doves and drives the traders forth with a whip of
cords! An inappropriate gesture or an unduly violent move-
ment would here be revolting. But Maier is equal to the
test. Advanc-
ing slowly, and
with an inde-

scribable mien
of sadness and
majesty, he
pushes aside the
tables, not in

hasty anger, but


rather as though
A MULTITUDE UPON THE STAGE.
CHRIST
TAKING LEAVE OF HIS MOTHER.
( Plackkorst)
\
a
Q
‘I. I.-
Q Q I!
O
s
a
a
\ ‘n’.

THE PASSION PLAY 395
their presence were pollution; and we are so absorbed by his
look and action that we hardly notice when they really fall.
Perhaps we should not do so, were it not that real doves,
thus freed from their cotes, fly over the walls of the audi-
torium into the adjoining town.
But a still more difficult task is that which Maier encoun-
ters in the scene of the Last Supper. The grouping here of
Master and disciples
closely resembles Leon-
ardo da Vinci’s well-
known painting. In fact,
it reproduces that picture
in life with all its Oriental
coloring. The scene is
one of great beauty and
impressiveness, especially
when, the dispute having
arisen among the disciples
as to which shall be chief,
the Master rises and with
inimitable dignity and re-
proachful love, slowly
passes from one to another,
to set them the example

of humility by washing
their feet.
The intensity of his
feelings at this time is shown by the remark that Maier after-
ward made to one of us: “You cannot imagine how I come
to love those men at the Last Supper while I am washing
their feet."
During the distribution of the bread and wine the silence
of the immense audience seemed almost painful in its inten-
sity, the climax being reached when the announcement was
IN THE TEMPLE.

296 THE PASSION PLAY
made: “Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray
I!
me.
In the consternation which followed, even Judas himself,


THE LAST SUPPER. (Da Vinrr')
confused and fearful, exclaimed with the others, “Lord, is it
I?" and Maier answered him sadly, yet not without some
sternness in his voice: “Judas, that thou doest, do quickly."



THE LAST SUPPER.
This admonition to Iscariot is soon followed by a scene
revealing the hall of the Sanhedrin. At first, however, when
the curtain rises, Judas has not yet made his appearance before
THE PASSION PLAY 297
the priestly Council. Caiaphas
and Annas occupy the seats
of honor above the tables of
the scribes. A most exciting
debate is being carried on, as
to what shall be done with the
Galilean, the words uttered be-
ing such as must naturally have
been spoken on the occasion.
In fact, whenever the text of
the Passion Play leaves the
direct narration of the Gospels,
the language is not only sim-
ple and dignified, but frequently


CAIAPHAS.
eloquent. The words of Maier
himself are usually only such as are recorded in the New
Testament.
The session of the Sanhedrin was presided over by
Caiaphas, who, it will be remembered, in private life was the



THE HALL OF THE SANHEDRIN.
biirgermeister of the village. He was richly attired in a long
white robe with silver fringe, while on his breast gleamed the
twelve jewels, symbolic of the Israelitish tribes.
298 THE PASSION PLAY


THE DEBATE.
It was he who first addressed the Assembly with passion-
ate eagerness. “Fathers of the people," he exclaimed, “our
religion is in danger of being overthrown. Did not this Gal—
ilean drive out the buyers, traders, and sellers from the Tem-
ple? Did ye not see how he entered our city in triumph?

He is carrying the people
with him and is teaching
them to despise us.’ Shall
we wait quietly here till the


last shadow of our power be
gone? I, at least, am in favor
of his death."
The aged Annas also rises
from his seat, and exclaims
in tones tremulous with emo—
tion and infirmity: “By my
‘ gray hairs, I swear not to rest
‘ until our religion is made safe
by his destruction! ”
By the time that Judas
, makes his appearance before
J them, they have decided to


THE JUDAS OF 1890.

IO‘.-
\.1 ‘on
\3‘\.
f
a .
.3‘
r. . .\
1R.
c 0..
S 1 I
( .1
Olll
‘
use‘.
THE BETRAYER’S KISS.
THE PASSION PLAY 301
put the Nazarene to death; but of this they cunningly say
nothing. On the contrary, they only tell Iscariot that they
wish to imprison his Master for a short time, to prevent his
uttering any more extreme doctrines. Judas stands for some
time beside a table in the centre of the hall, listening to the
words of the Council and struggling with his feelings. The

THE PARTING AT BETHANY.
sight of the money. however, and its ring upon the table, de-
cide him. As if lured on by an irresistible attraction, he
clutches the silver, tests each piece with his teeth, and sweeps
it eagerly into the bag. Meantime, his evil genius (the agent
of the high priest) stands watching him intently, as Mephis-
topheles watches Faust, lest at the last moment he may recoil.
A very beautiful scene in the Passion Play is that of the
departure of Christ from Bethany, on his journey to Jeru-
salem. His disciples are full of foreboding and urge him not
to go thither, but Jesus answers them with the command,
302 TH E PASSION PLAY

“Follow Me," and unhesitatingly bids farewell to His Mother
and friends, and even to the village of which He was so fond.
The parting of Jesus from His Mother is exceedingly pathetic,
the more so, as the spectators are well aware of the fate that
awaits the Saviour at the hands of His enemies. He Himself
knows perfectly what He is to undergo, for He exclaims:
"Dear hospitable Bethany, I shall never again linger in thy
quiet valley. Beloved
Mother, the time appoint-
ed from the beginning has
come for me to give my-
self up as a sacrifice in
obedience to the Fath-
er’s will.H At length the
last embrace is given, and
Mother and Son separate
only to meet again on the
way to Calvary.
The scene of the garden
of Gethsemane, whither
Maier leads his disciples
from the Last Supper, was
to us the most touching
portion of the entire Play.
One naturally trembles at
first with apprehension, lest something be done that may
offend; but all such anxiety is needless while Joseph Maier
takes the part of Christ. Three times he goes apart to kneel
in prayer. Three times he pleads in agony: “Oh, my
Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." But,
finally, when he has gained the spiritual victory, there falls
from his lips the sublime expression: “Nevertheless, not as
IN GETHSEMANE.
I will, but as Thou wilt!” There are some voices that can
electrify us like a bugle-call, or thrill us with an overwhelm-
THE PASSION PLAY 303


PREPARING FOR THE IDR'D’S SUPPER.
ing pathos. Maier has such a voice; and in this scene his
simple utterance of the word “Father" affected us more pow-
erfully than any other feature of the Play.
Meantime, his disciples are sleeping on, unmindful of
their master's agony. He looks upon them sadly, yet ten-
derly, as one might look upon a weary child. Then, as
though foreseeing the trials which await them, he murmurs:
“Sleep on now and take your rest; " but soon awakens them


HIS UISCIPLES ARE SLEEPING.
304. THE PAssIoN PLAY
with the words: “Rise, let us be going; be-
hold, he is at hand that doth betray me."
It is indeed time. The Roman guards have
come, and, guided by the faithless Judas,
have surprised the Christ and his disciples in
the shadows of Gethsemane. Iscariot ad-
vances with a rapid step, like one forcing
himself in desperation to some hateful act


that he has promised to perform. His man-
"KBACAPTWE K'NG' ner perfectly portrays his loathing for this
act of treachery. With a quick, convulsive movement, he
seizes the hand of his master, and imprints upon his pallid
cheek the fatal kiss. Then, with an appearance of relief and
shame, he skulks away among the trees, and lets the Roman
soldiers do their part.
There is something sublime in the isolation of the Christ,
as he quietly surveys the soldiers, who recoil before his
glance. All the apparent weakness of the previous hour has
vanished. Calm and collected, he confronts them like a
captive king. Buthis disciples, who had so recently uttered


JUDAS BETRAYS HIS MASTER.
protestations of devotion, even unto death, all hurry off in
terror through the shadows of the garden, leaving him friend-
less and alone. Probably no amount of reading can convey
.1 (Dari)



CHRIST LEAVING THE JUDGMENT-HALL.


DI".
010'




THE PASSION PLAY 307
to one the utter loneliness of Christ at this pathetic crisis of
His life so well as this impressive scene at Ober-Ammergau.
Following so closely on the agonizing scene in Gethsemane,
it is a never-to-be-forgotten moment when one beholds the
tall, majestic form of Maier moving away in solitary grandeur
with the Roman guards.
He is at once conducted to the judgment-hall of Caiaphas.

cmzrsr TAKEN CAP'I‘IVE. (Hofnmnn)
The high priest trembles with hatred and rage, as the pris-
oner appears in the distance, and exclaims angrily:
“Bring him nearer, that I may look upon his face."
Finally, after hearing the testimony of several witnesses,
he cries impetuously, “I, the high priest, adjure thee by the
living God, tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of
God?" Maier remains for a moment silent, then with calm
dignity replies: “Thou hast said it; and hereafter shall
ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power,
and coming in the clouds of heaven." At these words
308 THE PASSION PLAY
Caiaphas leaps from his seat, and, tearing open the breast of
his tunic, exclaims: “What further need have we of wit-
nesses? Behold, now, ye have all heard his blasphemy.
What think ye? "
The answer comes at once, unanimous and in decisive
tones, “He is guilty of death."
Caiaphas is evidently rejoiced at this verdict, but knows
that only a partial victory has yet been gained; for, since


THE JUDGMENT~HALL OF CAIAPHAS.
Judea is a Roman province, this sentence must be ratified
by the Roman governor, Pilate, to whom the victim is
now led.
The space before Pilate's house is occupied by priests and
people, all clamoring like hungry wolves for the death of the
so-called false prophet and impostor. Attended by one or
two officers Pilate steps calmly out upon his balcony, and in
a cold, unimpassioned voice, which contrasts finely with the
howling of the mob, inquires the meaning of the uproar. It
is admirable to see his evident disdain for the fanatical priests,
as he replies to their accusations: “ No Roman condemns a.
man unheard. Let him approach."
The scene between the Christ and Pilate is one of the
most interesting in the entire drama. The Roman evidently
THE PASSION PLAY 309
regards him as an innocent and unoffending dreamer. But
when the prisoner utters the words: “My kingdom is not of
this world. . . . To this end was I born, and for this
cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto
the truth." Pilate looks at him, as


though there flashed upon his mind
the possibility of something deeper
in his thoughts than he has yet be-
lieved; and he gives utterance to
that well-known phrase (echoed,
alas! throughout the ages by all
thoughtful men) “ lVns z'st PVa/zr-
heir? ” [What is truth?] (
At this moment a servant is seen

making his way to the proconsul,
asserting that he has an important
message for him from his wife.
Pilate bids him approach.
“What word dost thou bring
me from my beloved wife?"
he asks.
The servant answers: “She
begs of thee most earnestly to
have nothing to do with the
just man now standing at thy
judgment-seat, for she has suf- .
fered many things in a dream mums‘
because of him." Pilate makes a gesture, as though con-
firmed in his secret determination.
“Return," he replies, “and tell her she need not fear on
this account. I will do all in my power to release him."
Then turning to the priests, he asks: “Did you not say
this prisoner was from Galilee?”
“Yes," answer many voices, “he comes from Naza-
reth. He is a Nazarene.’
9
310 THE PASSION PLAY
“In that case," exclaims Pilate
joyfully, “this is not my affair.
Herod has come from Galilee to
Jerusalem to celebrate the feast.
Conduct the prisoner, therefore,
to his proper judge."
With these words he retires,
while the priests, furious at this
new delay, are forced to lead
their victim to a new tribunal,—
the judgment-hall of Herod.
There, surrounded by a few


courtiers and


cl-nns'r. ( Titian)
some Jewish
priests, still trembling with excitement,
we see upon the throne a man who
evidently looks on Jesus as demented,
and wishes to have sport at his
expense. To all his jests,
however, Maier returns not
a word, but stands in
statue-like repose, as
though his thoughts
were far away. Herod
‘ finally becomes offended
“.at this reticence, and
orders him to be clad in
a royal robe, and shown
to the people in mockery
as a “king; ” and when
the priests clamor for a
serious decision, he re-
plies: “My judgment is,
that the man is a fool,


(Raphael)
CHRIST BEARING THE CROSS.
THE PASSION PLAY 313
incapable of committing the crimes which


you have laid to his charge.” Then, dis-
missing the council, he exclaims to his cour-
tiers: “Come, let us make up for this lost
time with wine and song! "
Again, therefore, the uncomplaining
prisoner is led to Pilate, who once more
steps forth upon his balcony. The
scene which follows is intensely excit- \ a
ing. The multitude numbers several hundred men, who move and speak
in perfect unison, and seem the very
embodiment of bigotry and hatred.
Pilate perceives that Jesus is the vic-
tim of an unreasonable and infuriated
mob. All now depends on his firm-
ness. He evidently does not like to
give him up to death, regarding such
a course as mean and cowardly. He
therefore adopts another plan of “'“ER “Hm PM“
rescue, by ordering the thief, Barabbas, to be brought before
him from his dungeon. When he appears, the Roman looks


. " -~'i.'- l
THE. JUDGMENT‘HALL OF HEROD.
314
THE PASSION PLAY


MAIER BEFORE
HEROD-
upon this grisly, repulsive man, and smiles,
believing that he has solved the problem.
“Men of Jerusalem," he cries, “you
know it is my custom at this festival to set
at liberty a prisoner. I now intend, as
usual, to do so. This man, Barabbas, is
a murderer. The other prisoner here is
one against whom I can find no cause for
condemnation whatsoever. Which of them
will you, then, that I release?"
The answer comes at once from priests and populace
alike:
“Release Barabbas! ”
Pilate, astonished at this response, hesitates a moment, and
then once more exclaims: “Nay, I appeal to your reason,—
your humanity. Here is an innocent,—
there a guilty man. Choose once again,
which of them I shall release to you."
Once more five hundred hoarse and
furious voices cry, with a wild unanimity
that makes our hearts stand still, “Re-
lease Barabbas!
Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"
Pilate surveys them in amazement;
then turns and looks in pity on the
man whom they are thus unmerci-
fully bounding on to death. But
the cry grows louder: “If thou
condemnest not this would-be king,
thou art not Caesar's friend."
The weak spot is touched. The
Roman, anxious to retain imperial
favor, first falters, and then yields;
yet, as he does so, breaks his Sceptre,
Jesus to the Cross!

BARABBAS.
THE PASSION PLAY 315
exclaiming in disgust: "Such a people as this
I cannot comprehend.”
Then, as if terrified at what he
(1 \
has done, he calls for water, an


\._
washes his hands before the multi~ #\
tude, exclaiming fiercely: “Bear me
witness! Bear me witness! I find no
fault in him. I wash my hands of his
innocent blood.”
Scarcely have these words fallen
from his lips, when the Jews cry
out in tones that send a shudder
through us as they echo over
the adjoining hills: “His blood
be on us and on our chil-
dren ! ”
The following scene re-
veals again the wretched
man whose treachery has
wrought this appalling re-
sult. That his master would
be doomed to die was some-
thing Judas had never sup-
posed possible. Accordingly his
remorse is terrible; and when he learns
that Jesus is condemned to the horri-
" cRuclFv HIM."
ble death of crucifixion, he rushes
into the presence of the priests
and begs in piteous accents for the
prisoner's'life. But in reply he
hears only derisive words and
taunting laughter, and, hurling the
accursed silver at their feet, Judas
goes forth, assuring them with


cmusT. (Heck)
316 THE PASSION PLAY

THE SCOURGING.
awful words. that he and they will now go down together to
the deepest hell.
Among his utterances of despair are these:
"I am the outcast villain who hath brought
His benefactor to these bonds and death!
The scum of men ! There is no help for me!
For me no hope i My crime is much too great!
The fearful crime no penance can make good l
Too late! Too late! For he is dead—and I—
I am his murderer!
Thrice unhappy hour
In which my mother gave me to the world!
How long must I drag on this life of shame,
And hear these tortures in my outcast breast?
As one pest-stricken, flee the haunts of men,
And be despised and shunned by all the world ?
Not one step farther ! Here, oh, life accursed,
Here will I end thee l"


(Cu {do Rmz')
Finally, in desperation, he loosens his girdle, ties one end
of it about his neck, and prepares to hang himself—the

THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

THE PASSION PLAY 319
curtain falling
at the moment
when he is fas-
tening the other
extremity of the
girdle to the
tree.
From this
point onward
the tragic scene
grows more and
more intense.


THE BALCONY OF PILATE.
and reveals the
stately form of Maier bound to a column. His garments are
already stained with blood, and amid brutal mockery soldiers
are beating him with ropes. Yet not a groan escapes the suf-
lerer’s lips. \Vith a look of agony upon his face, he stands
there, patiently enduring all, until his strength can bear no
more. He reels, the ropes are loosened, and he falls sense-
less to the ground.
But even this is not
enough.
No sooner has he re-
covered consciousness, than
the soldiers resume their
cruel sport. They put a
sceptre in his hand; they
place him on a stool which
they call a throne, and, bow-
ing before him, pay him
mock reverence with vul-
gar jests. Then they blind-


mm m REMORSE_ fold his eyes and strike him
320 TH E PASSION PLAY


( Ittenbarli )
on the face, saying: “ Prophesy,
O King, who thy next assailant
will be! " They even go so far
as to push him headlong off the
stool, and he falls forward on
the floor. All this is gross and
brutal; yet it does not exceed
the recorded facts of history.
Through it all Maier never loses
his kingly dignity. All the
abuse of his persecutors recoils
upon themselves; and we lose
not a particle of our admira-
tion for the lofty nobility of
the man who never stoops to make complaint, but endures all
with silent heroism.
Finally, the climax of the persecution is reached when one

PRESSING THE THORNS INTO THE FLESH.
THE PASSION PLAY 321
e‘— '~,‘l—~ ~a—I-v -— *j— e— " ‘


ON THE WAY TO CALVARV.
of the soldiers proposes to add to the prisoner's regal aspect
by crowning him with thorns. The crown is quickly plaited,
and amid shouts of derision is
placed on his pallid brow. .
Then, in order not to wound '
their own hands, four of them
take sticks and, using them as
levers, press the thorns down
into the bleeding flesh. At
this moment there is hardly
a man in the audience who
does not long to leap upon the
stage and rescue Maier from
such torture, while the excited,
breathless look upon the peas-
ants’ faces indicates how

deeply they are moved by all
reahsm' CROWNED WITH THORNS.
322 THE PASSION PLAY
W— ' ' W’
One of the most impressive scenes
in the great tragedy is that of the
multitude accompanying the Christ
to his crucifixion. The crowd, as
usual, numbers hundreds of people.
Most of them mock the Saviour with
cruel taunts and fill the air with jeer-
ing cries. In their midst we see the
doomed man moving slowly, with


difficulty dragging his heavy cross.
As he passes one of the houses, there
(Kart/we!) is enacted the episode of the Wander-
ing Jew. A man‘appears, who tells the sufferer to move on
and not disgrace his house by lingering before it. Maier
turns and fixes on the man one long, reproachful look. It
is enough. The haunted wretch turns and disappears,—
destined henceforth, according to tradition, to find no more
rest on earth,—-not even that of the grave.
The movement of the cortege is painfully slow, owing to
the extreme weakness of the condemned, who, at last, utterly
exhausted, totters, and, borne down
by the cross, falls heavily to the
ground twice. On each occasion,
however, he is goaded up and
onward by the soldiers, who have
no mercy on his weakness. The
Roman centurion alone seems more
humane. He offers him a flagon
of water, saying: “Here, drink and
refresh thyself."
The weary sufferer drinks, and
attempts to rise, but cannot do so.


Meanwhile, down the street at
the left of the stage, have been THE CENTUHON

DESCENT FROM THE CROSS. (Rubens)
THE PASSION PLAY 325

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MARY RECOGNIZES HER SON.
advancing Mary, the Mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and
John the disciple. They do not know yet of the condemna-
tion of Jesus; but alarmed by their own fears and the increas-
ing tumult, they approach
the procession. A thrilling
moment ensues when Mary
recognizes in the exhausted
man—her son. With a pierc-
ing cry she falls into the arms
of Mary Magdalene, exclaim-
ing: “Oh, my God, it is my
son, my Jesus!"
A few minutes later, when
the crowd has disappeared,
and while the Chorus (this
time robed in black) are
singing their sad chant, We
hear behind the curtain the
heavy blows of a hammer,
and shudder at the thought

326 THE PASSION PLAY
of what these
ominous sounds
foretell.
Another mo-
ment and the cur-
tain rises to re-
veal the scene of
Calvary. The
crosses of the two


thieves are erect

CALVARY.
on either side,
the malefactors being simply bound to them with ropes, no
pretense of crucifixion being made in their case. In the
centre, the cross of Jesus lies at first prostrate. The sol-
diers are on the point of lifting it; but there is an instant’s
delay; for the priests have read the inscription sent by Pilate
to decorate the cross, and are enraged at it. They will not
have it so, and send the messenger back to the Roman Gov-
ernor insisting that the legend shall not read “This is Jesus
the King of the Jews,” but rather “This is Jesus who said,
‘I am the King
of the Jews.’ "
Pilate, how-
"R-
“Eg'w-BHMM
ever, sends back
the paper with
J
his well-known
words, “What I
have written I
Ks.“
,
l
L
1
"a;
have written.”
a 1' H
As if rejoicing
to outwit the
priests, the Ro-



man centurion
sfilzes thg P313613 THE UPLIFTED cnoss.
THE PASSION PLAY 327
and with one blow of the hammer nails it just above the
sufferer's head.
As the cross was then slowly raised to the perpendicular,
and the form of Maier was seen, suspended upon it, I caught
my breath in fear lest it should fall forward and precipitate
him to the ground. Apparently he had no support whatever.
Not a trace of any ligament could be discerned, and it was
hard to believe that he was not actually nailed to the wood.

THE CRUCIFIXION.
The fact is that Maier wears beneath his tightly-fitting suit
of silk a strong corset, into the back of which are fastened
hooks which clasp into corresponding rings in the body of
the cross. These constitute his only real support; although
a tiny piece of wood is placed beneath one heel, and nails,
driven between his fingers, give the slightest possible relief
to his extended arms. At best, however, to hang there for
twenty minutes, is, as he himself assured us, exceedingly
exhausting. The realism in all this is terrible. Apparently
we see the blood-stained nails piercing both hands and feet.
328 THE PASSION PLAY

The crown of thorns still wounds his forehead; his garments
are still marked with the blood of the scourging; and, most
trying of all, when the centurion’s spear pierces his side,
what seems to be real blood spurts forth and leaves a crimson
stain.
The figure of Maier, as it hangs upon the cross, com-
pletely satisfies, from a physical point of view, our ideal of the
crucified One. He is a man more than six feet tall, and has
a form that a sculptor might
covet for a model. While,
therefore, he was suspended
on the cross, his figure stand-
ing out in clear relief against
the background of the inner
stage, it seemed to us that
we had never seen a crucifix
in marble, of ivory, or on can-
vas, that equaled it in beauty.
His words uttered from
that position were given with
inimitable tenderness. Never
can I forget the first sen-
tence that he spoke. Our
MAIER ON'I'HE nerves had been for some
CROSS- time strained to their utmost
tension by his previous sufferings and pitiful position, and it
thrilled us indescribably to hear him, in a voice broken with
pain, answer the railings of the crowd with the pathetic utter-
ance: “Father, forgive them: they know not what they do."
Soon after he turned his weary eyes from his mother to
his beloved disciple, and exclaimed: “Mutter, sz'elze Dez'nm
So/lm,~So/m, sz'e’lze' De’z'rze Mm‘ie’r/ "
All the details were carried out just as narrated in the
Gospels. The soldiers cast lots for his garments; the sponge

luo~o
HE IS RISEN.


THE PASSION PLAY 331
was held to his parched lips;
and the mysterious, awful
words were uttered: “My
God! My God! ‘Why hast
thou forsaken me?"
Finally. it is evident that
the end draws near. With
a loud voice he cries at last:
“Father, into thy hands
I commend my spirit." The
head droops wearily upon
the breast. It is finished.
The descent from’ the
cross was beautiful and

affecting. The scene was
MATER DOLOROSA. (Guido Rem)
almost an exact reproduc-
tion of the masterpiece of Rubens. Two ladders were placed
against the cross, one in front, the other in the rear. Nico-
demus first ascended and tenderly drew the nails from the
wounded palms. The stiffened arms were gently laid upon
the shoulders of Joseph of Arimathzea, who stood on the
ladder facing the divine figure. Then,
by means of a long roll of linen cloth,
the body was gradually lowered to the
ground. Nicodemus, Joseph, and John
lifted the prostrate body, and, with a
touching combination of solicitude and
tender reverence, laid their precious bur-
den at the feet of Mary, his head resting
on his mother's lap.
What made this scene even more
pathetic was the fact that it took place
under the open sky, as if in actual life.
",5 "mum The lights and shadows of the clouds


332 THE PASSION PLAY
fell on the. form suspended
on the cross. The breeze
stirred the mantle of the
weeping mother. The birds
flew lightly back and forth
above the stage, singing joy-
ously, much as they did,
perhaps, on Calvary itself,
blithely unconscious now, as
then, of earthly tragedy and
woe.
The seventeenth act of
the Passion Play is devoted
to the scene of the Resur-
rection. Four Roman sol-
diers are seen watching at
the door of the sepulchre in


AT THE FEET OF MARV-
THE PASSION PLAY 333


BEARING THE BODY TO THE TOMH.
which the body of Jesus has been placed. At first they dis-
cuss the earthquake and other strange phenomena connected
with the crucifixion, but finally they fall asleep, and all is still.
Suddenly a crash like a thunder-peal is heard; the door of
the sepulchre falls prostrate, and for an instant Maier is seen


THF RESURRECTION
334 THE PASSION PLAY
within the doorway, clad in a glittering mantle, and with a
look of triumph on his pallid face. The next moment, two
gilded gates spring from the tomb on either side, and make
before him a dazzling screen of light. Another instant, and
they are thrown back again. But the Christ is gone. We
have beheld the vision of the Resurrection.
Before the last act of the drama, the chorus enters on the


THE ASCENSION.
stage to sing a hymn of exultation, the spirit of which is
expressed in the. joyful words: “Hallelujah! For the Lord is
now risen!" When, at the conclusion of the song, the
chorus as usual falls back to the right and left, there is seen
in the background a representation of the Ascension, as the
Christ, standing upon a slight elevation, gives to his Mother
and disciples his blessing and farewell. Nevertheless the
real climax of the Passion Play is reached beside the cross
of Calvary. The subsequent scenes of the Resurrection and
Ascension, although well given, are comparatively unimpres-
sive. But that which will remain forever in the memory is
THE PASSION PLAY 335
the expressive, noble face of Maier on the cross. To-day,
although four thousand miles from that idyllic village on the
heights, its influence is with me still, and even now, whenever
I recall those gentle features, I feel as if some spirit from a
better world were breathing on my soul its benediction.


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