The levee for men, which is held a day or two before or after the drawing-room, is a much less interesting, but more fatiguing business. Every man in Calcutta, European or Native, who can get the necessary vouchers for his admission, seems to make it his duty and his pleasure to attend. If he attends the levee, there is the chance that he may receive an invitation to dinner at Government House, or, more probably, to one of the great balls or “at homes” which are annually given by the Viceroy. Therefore, every European assistant and every clerk in the merchants’ offices, and banks, or in Government employment, strives for admission to the levee. Every native gentleman, who can obtain letters commendatory, is anxious to make his obeisance before the Viceroy. The great people, such as the members of Council, the judges of the High Court, the members of the Board of Revenue, and the secretaries of the Government, with the several military chiefs and heads of departments, who have the private entrée to Government House, are first presented to the Viceroy, and pay the penalty for their precedence by having to stand during the whole levee on either side of the Viceregal throne. A distant noise like the roaring of the sea is next heard, and there presently appears a heated and excited party of the representatives of the outside public, who have been successful in struggling to the front places and in being admitted first through the series of barriers by which the impatient crowd, numbering about twelve hundred, has to be restrained. The struggle to get to the front is something fearful until the protection of the first barrier is reached. Coat-tails are torn off, swords in their scabbards broken, hats treated as foot-balls, as the body of eager aspirants crushes forward. It is almost a comfort to find a soft place on this occasion between two fat and portly native gentlemen, who suffer grievously, but still gladly, for the honour and glory which they presently hope to attain. Several of the early barriers which have been already mentioned are kept against the crowd by non-commissioned officers, but as the candidates approach the throne, they come under the manipulation of the A.D.C.s and other officers on the staff, whose brilliant appearance sometimes seems almost to fascinate the mind of the uninitiated. At last the foremost comer is bidden by the A.D.C. to advance, card in hand, to meet his Viceregal master. He steps forward and hands his card to the Military Secretary, who announces his name in a loud voice, and the next two paces bring him in front of the Viceroy. Some men make a proper obeisance and pass on. Some give a little sort of a nod to the Viceroy, and, looking bewildered, try to retire by the way they had advanced, when an A.D.C. promptly interferes. A difficult case sometimes arises, when the Viceroy, on recognising someone to whom he desires to be gracious, puts forth his hand to be shaken. This proceeding being observed by the man who comes next, he cheerfully puts forth his hand to be shaken by the Viceroy, but meeting with no reciprocity, he slinks off in dismay.
Military uniform and the ordinary evening dress of civilians are the principal costumes. But the native gentlemen who appear present every variety of dress, more or less national or fanciful, according to their taste. A great deal of misunderstanding exists, unfortunately, on the subject of native dress. It is the present fashion with educated natives to despise the old simple national costume, and to profess to regard it as typical of servile submission to a conquering race. A young educated Bengali would not condescend to wear a robe of fine white muslin and a white turban (containing, perhaps, a hundred yards of the finest muslin), in which dress his father and grandfather were so becomingly arrayed. A new kind of turban has been invented for them of some coloured stiff material, and their body-dress is a long sort of single-breasted Noah’s Ark garment, of cloth or silk, reaching nearly down to the ancles. White stockings and patent-leather shoes or boots are considered very correct, and sometimes cloth trousers are visible above the boots, but not unfrequently this portion of European costume is wanting, and the native garment called a dhooti lurks beneath the Noah’s Ark coat. Thus arrayed, the wealthy young Bengali presents himself before the Viceroy. A comparatively recent fashion for educated native gentlemen is to appear in their college caps and gowns, which indicate the high degrees that they have taken in the local universities. But, perhaps, really the proudest man among them is he who assumes a regular English evening costume, with his head bare like a Briton, his beautiful black hair richly oiled and curled, and a white tie round his neck, and white kid gloves on his hands. From this it is evident to all the world that his mind and body have really achieved practical independence, and that he is on perfect equality with his foreign rulers.
But the levee must come to an end. The officers of the Volunteer corps who have been engaged on duty are presented to the Viceroy, and, finally, the native officers of the native regiments which have been on duty are brought up and go through the very graceful ceremony of proffering the hilts of their swords to His Excellency. The hundreds who have attended the levee then disperse to their homes, no refreshment being provided after the levee, although, as has been mentioned, the ladies, after the drawing-room, are more kindly treated. Every man, therefore, seeks the earliest opportunity of quenching his thirst at his own house or club, and the pipe of peace probably consoles him for all the loss of temper and damage of apparel which he sustained in struggling into the presence of the Viceroy. It is only fair to admit that it is reported in the Indian papers that at Lord Ripon’s levees a successful attempt has been made to prevent all the crushing and struggling among the men for priority, which had been so disgracefully prevalent at previous levees.
It has been mentioned above that most of the men who go to the levee, do so in the hope of getting an invitation to dinner at Government House, or, at least, to one of the balls, or “at homes,” or garden-parties, which are given by the Viceroy in the course of the season. With regard to the dinner invitations, there are always one or more experienced A.D.C.’s on the Staff who are careful to weed the dinner-list judiciously; but with huge weekly or bi-weekly dinners of sixty or eighty persons, the Viceroy generally manages to gratify the vanity, and satisfy the appetite of most of his ambitious visitors and their wives in the course of the season. Doubtless much heart-burning exists on the part of those who are not invited to these feasts, especially when they know that any friends of their own immediate circle are invited, and find themselves omitted. The A.D.C.-in-waiting sometimes has to receive an irascible visitor who wants to know the reason why he and his spouse have not been invited to dinner; and letters of remonstrance on this subject are believed to be by no means uncommon. But “a mild answer turneth away wrath,” and there is no instance on record of the A.D.C. having ever suffered from the much-threatened horsewhip.
There are very few native gentlemen who care to meet their European brethren at the dinner-table, and they, therefore, seldom appear at the Government House dinner-parties. It is not that our native friends, especially of the wealthy and educated classes, do not appreciate a dinner in the English or European style, but, for reasons which it is not easy to explain satisfactorily, they seem to prefer to indulge themselves with such meals in the privacy of their own houses. It has also been considered advisable, of late years, not to invite native gentlemen to the balls at Government House. The reason for this can be put in a very simple form. The native gentleman does not bring his wife or daughters to the dance, and he himself does not dance. Therefore his presence in a ball-room is unnecessary. This explanation does not cover the whole of the case, but it is sufficient for our present purpose. Almost everyone knows that native ideas on the subject of dancing differ almost entirely from our own. Perhaps it may be permissible to mention one very notable exception to ordinary native habits in the matter of dancing. We refer to a young Rajah, the ruler of a semi-independent province, who has had the good fortune to be brought up under most judicious and capable English tutors and guardians. This young prince is equally good at polo and rackets and lawn-tennis, and most other European sports. He is a first-rate shot and a very fair horseman. In a ball-room his success is unmistakeable, and as he has the manners of an English gentleman (than which we can offer no higher compliment), he is also fortunate in having so mastered all the difficulties of waltzing, that it is generally understood that he is accepted by the best dancers in a ball-room as a very welcome partner. He wears a sort of semi-military costume, with a velvet tunic slightly braided with gold, and it would be difficult to find any man more thoroughly conversant with all social etiquette, or more familiar with the colloquial niceties of the English language.
In order, therefore, to suit the tastes of the great majority of the native gentlemen who wish to display their loyalty, the Viceroy gives several evening parties, which are known as “at homes”; and these are varied by garden-parties in the gardens adjoining Government House, which take place about sunset, and are continued until dark, when the grounds and adjacent buildings are lit up with a brilliant illumination. The “at homes” take place indoors, and as there is no dancing or music they are not very lively entertainments; but an “at home” everywhere depends chiefly on the capacity of those who are invited to entertain themselves from their own resources, and this element is not strong amongst our native friends. At a garden-party they are much more at ease and happy. They can bring their little grand-children to the garden-party and see the pleasure which the children enjoy, and the admiration which they sometimes attract. This is rather a curious feature in native society. The grandfather cannot bring out his wife or his daughter, according to native usage, so he appears in charge of his grand-children. The grandfather himself may be of the mature age of forty-five. His married daughter is perhaps about twenty-five, and the grand-children are usually under ten years of age. Little native girls of that age are exceedingly picturesque, and often absolutely pretty, but about that age they are married, and withdrawn from the gaze of the outer world. Certainly the customs and habits of our native friends are mysterious; but there is no occasion to pity them because they firmly believe that though their ways are not as our ways, they are in every respect much preferable and superior to those of the European strangers.
We may say one word, before parting, regarding the balls given by the Viceroy at Government House in Calcutta. There are occasionally what are called small dances, when about 150 or 200 of the “upper ten” are invited; but a real dignity-ball means the issue of above 1,200 invitations, which are intended to include all whose names are on what is called “the Government House List.” It is a very pretty and interesting sight when the room is crowded, about 10 o’clock, and the Viceroy with his wife and their private friends, and staff, make their appearance in procession and take their places for the opening quadrille. A sacred space is corded off for the Viceroy’s quadrille, the ends of the cords being held or guarded by some of the handsome young privates of the Viceroy’s native body-guard, in their gorgeous scarlet uniforms and plumed head-dresses. These body-guard men are quite a study, as they stand gazing imperturbably on the dazzling scene. In the early and crowded part of a Government House ball, it is usually expedient to walk about with someone who is able to criticise the appearance and dresses of the ladies. There are representatives of nearly all nations, and some of the Armenian and Jewish ladies are conspicuous for the splendid diamonds and gorgeous semi-oriental dresses which they wear. The ball-room usually looks very bright with the numerous military uniforms and political and diplomatic costumes, which present a happy contrast to the ordinary civilian evening dress. It might be deemed impertinent to go into detail regarding the dresses of the ladies, but a critical eye can usually distinguish the fashions of at least three years, the latest arrived belles exhibiting the modes of the latest London season, whilst many are about a year out of date, and a few still adhere to the dresses which were in vogue two years before. However, the dancing is always carried on with much spirit, and there is no lack of good partners for those pretty girls who are seen to dance well. About 12 o’clock supper is announced, and a move is made to the supper-room on the next floor, where there is never any want of all that is needed to cheer the heart of man or woman. Usually the Viceroy retires soon after supper, and probably has an hour of telegrams and urgent business to get through before he can go to sleep. The rest of the company carry on the ball until the programme is exhausted, and even the most large-hearted chaperones are obliged to ask the A.D.C.’s to allow no more extra dances. And so, about 3 o’clock in the morning, Government House relapses into silence and repose.
CHAPTER II.
MEMBERS OF COUNCIL AND LIEUT.-GOVERNORS OF BENGAL.
In the Indian hierarchy H.E. the Commander-in-Chief of India comes next in rank and position to H.E. the Viceroy and Governor-General. But although to all military men “the Chief” is naturally the most important personage professionally, it is seldom that “the Chief” and his entourage make a very deep impression on the social life of the country. There is a sort of military court-circle whilst the Chief resides at his summer quarters at Simla, where he holds periodical levees, and gives dinner-parties and picnics, and sometimes a ball, but that is chiefly to his official friends and acquaintances. When the Chief descends to Calcutta, he occupies the house assigned to him in Fort William, and thereby unintentionally assumes a sort of exclusive position against non-official society. It is not every merchant or barrister or other civilian who has time or courage to face all the sentries, and cross all the drawbridges of the fort, which hedge the divinity of the Chief. The fort is a sort of large and ingenious rat-trap, in which there is one cardinal rule—that you must not retrace your steps, or go out by the gate through which you entered. Sentries bristle at every corner, sometimes English, sometimes native soldiers; all evidently full of aversion to stray visitors. So that when you have at last scaled the Chief’s staircase and written your name in his visiting-book, under the supervision of a good-looking A.D.C., you make your retreat with considerable satisfaction, and with a feeling of profound relief as soon as you find yourself again outside the precincts of the fort. The official position of the Chief is also somewhat anomalous, as he is a member of the Viceroy’s Council, although there is also a Military member of the Council, whose function it is to advise the Viceroy on military matters, and thus apparently to keep the Chief under a sort of control. Theoretically it may be presumed that the Chief should be at the head of his army, wherever it is engaged in war. This was actually the case when Lord Gough was Commander-in-Chief in the great campaigns in the Punjab, when the Sikh army threatened our existence. And still more so was it the rule during the mutinies of 1857–58, when Lord Clyde, as Commander-in-Chief, shared all the perils and labours of those brave men who then reconquered India. But in later times, and also before the mutinies, it was not always so. It is a matter of tradition that Sir William Gomm was the best man at Simla at the interesting game of cup and ball, there being only one civilian who could, but would not, beat him at it. In the days of Sir William Mansfield his excessive zeal in the domestic economy of his household led to scandals and a court-martial, which has become only too famous in military history. When Lord Napier of Magdala was Chief, the state of India was generally peaceful; and although the late genial Commander-in-Chief would gladly have taken the command in person in the late Afghan campaign, it was not permitted to him to do so. It is to be hoped that no opportunity may be afforded to the present Commander-in-Chief, Sir Donald Stewart, to take the field in person; but, if the occasion should arise, there are few who know Sir Donald Stewart who would not again gladly serve under him.
We come next to the Members of the Viceroy’s Executive Council. The word “executive” indicates a marked distinction from the “additional” members of the Council of the Viceroy. “Executive” means £8,000 a year. “Additional” means no pay, or merely a slight increase of an existing official salary. There are seven members of the Executive Council. The Commander-in-Chief and the Military member have been already mentioned. There is the Legislative member, who is usually an English barrister. Two members of the Civil Service represent, by turns, one the interests of the Bengal or the North-Western Provinces, the other the rival Presidencies of Bombay or Madras. There is also a member in special charge of Public Works; this appointment was abolished, but has been restored. Finally, there is the Financial member, who may be either an ex-M.P., like Mr. Wilson or Mr. Massey, or an ex-civilian, like Sir Charles Trevelyan and Sir Richard Temple, or an ex-artilleryman, as in the case of Major Baring. Each of these fortunate men has a salary of £8,000 a year. The pay used to be £10,000, but hard times brought about a reduction; and one of the first victims of the reduction announced his intention of meeting it by reducing his charitable and other subscriptions by 20 per cent. It is hardly necessary to say that people in the position of a Member of Council are considerably victimised for subscriptions of every sort, from contributions to statues in honour of departing Viceroys down to the most useful and practical charitable institutions. Thirty or forty years ago the Member of Council was a man of much mark and social influence in Calcutta. The Governor-General, in those days, might go touring through remote provinces; but the Members of his Council remained permanently in the capital, and carried on the ordinary business of government. The princely entertainments of Sir Charles Metcalfe as a Member of Council are not even yet forgotten. It is almost distressing to those who remember Mr. Dorin’s hospitable establishment, to see the fine old house now let as a lodging-house, with half-a-dozen different families occupying flats or rooms in it. Mr. Dorin had the credit of never having been beyond sixteen miles from Calcutta, and then only on a visit to the Governor-General at his country seat at Barrackpore. But it would be tedious and invidious to mention more of the old and honoured names. Now matters are very different. The whole Council migrates annually to Simla with the Viceroy, and several of the members look upon their winter residence in Calcutta with almost equal apprehension for their health and their purse. As they contrive to live about eight months of the year at Simla, they naturally make it their head-quarters and home. Some of them still keep up a house in Calcutta, which they let during their absence at Simla. But those who have no house of their own have either to pay an enormous rent for a furnished house for the Calcutta season, or live at a boarding-house or at one of the clubs. The chief evidence of their presence in Calcutta consists in the swarm of scarlet-coated servants who hang about their doors. As they cannot keep carriages at Simla, where only the Viceroy uses a carriage, they have to hire their equipages from the job-masters in Calcutta, for which they have, of course, to pay season prices. Almost all the time that they spend in Calcutta they are groaning over the expenditure which they have to incur, for a Member of Council has arrived at that time of life when the acquisition of money is more pleasing than the spending of it. As they stand on their dignity, and do not condescend to call on any new comers, they are able to contract the circle of their acquaintances; and thus they avoid the expense of giving many large dinner-parties. Some are, by their nature, more hospitably and socially disposed than others, and less intent on economy. But the Member of Council is no longer a very important element in the Indian social system, and his absence from the social circle would, perhaps, be not much more noticed than his absence from the Council Chamber would be regretted by some ardent reformers who have no sufficient respect for his official position.