Notwithstanding all this literary energy the ‘Supreme Law of Nations’ took its course. Delegates from every Government were summoned to appear on May 1 in the year 2002 to consider the secession of the Indian, from the control of the Teutonic Empire, and all the world wondered how it would end.
In due course a sub-committee was formed from the delegates with powers to choose the place in which the World’s Tribunal should be held. It was finally decided that Paris should be thus exalted, for this charming city still held its own in the representation of the science and art of the world.
The Chamber of Deputies for this unparalleled occasion was newly-decorated with the greatest lavishness. Exquisitely upholstered chairs, resembling thrones in their sumptuousness were provided for the occasion. The walls of the chief chamber in which the Court was to be held were beautifully decorated and made to appear like fine ivory, set in square slabs edged with gold: on each of the squares paintings of exquisite workmanship relieved the coldness of the pure cream-coloured ivory ground, while silken draperies skilfully embroidered with gold, in richest designs hung in graceful folds from windows and doorways. On the wall immediately behind the President’s chair were suspended valuable paintings, the frames of which were composed of solid gold, whose corners were set with gems of great value.
Although much was done to please the eye in this temple of luxury, nevertheless, there was naught provided to tempt the palate.
The imagination of the ministers might revel in richest surroundings, but only the plainest fare was provided in the anterooms for their entertainment.
With these regulations, we may be sure, that the matter under consideration was not drawn out unduly, for who would remain in a place where the pleasures of the table were so scantily considered? No time being lost in gastronomical or bibulous gratifications the delegates were enabled to bestow assiduous attention upon their duties, and listened carefully to the charges brought by the Easterners against their governors.
They denounced emphatically the system of vice-government which was rife with abuses, and explained that from the very commencement they regarded this foreign intrusion as a degradation to their nation. They pointed out that they were an ancient people, possessing all the prestige of ages of civilisation, who could not forget the glories of bygone centuries; for thousands of years they had been governed by their own rulers, in true Eastern magnificence; at a period so remote that their present rulers were then mere barbarians, unknown to the civilised world. With such a past as theirs; their country possessing such classic associations, standing proofs of which they had everywhere: in the perfect architecture; in their ancient literature, all of which reminded them of their former prestige and splendour. The time had arrived that they could no longer ignore the duty that lay before them, namely, to demand the restoration of their natural rights which had been filched away from them by fraud and deceit without their consent or desire. ‘Yes!’ continued the speaker, ‘every inch of our territory has been surveyed and measured by the foreign intruder, and the products of our labour taxed heavily to uphold in luxury the children of the invader.’
It was the chief minister, Sir John Punjaub, a leading Hindoo, who made this daring speech. He was a man advanced in years and full of learning, with ever so many letters after his name, indicating his membership of various scientific societies in England, Germany and India.
His countrymen adored him, for he had expended his vast wealth for their betterment, by the establishment of various philanthropic and educational institutions: but they loved him chiefest of all for his active enthusiasm in the promotion of their country’s political welfare, and his kindly and ready sympathy in private life.
It was said of him that never in his life had he turned away from a tale of woe; ‘Better,’ he would say, ‘give ten times to the unworthy, than once turn a deaf ear to the needy.’