Among other excursions we had an amusing visit to our ship acquaintance, Colonel Olcott, at the headquarters, or Library, of the Theosophical Society at Adyar. Adyar is a pretty place, and there are nice shady drives near it with banyan, tamarind, and other trees. As we approached we saw a large bungalow on the top of a small hill, and noticed a number of people seated in the verandah. It was evident that they saw us from their elevation, but it did not seem to have struck them that we could also see them from below. When we arrived at the door everyone had disappeared except Colonel Olcott, who was seated in an attitude of abstraction, but jumped up holding out his hands and expressing great pleasure at our visit.
We were taken into a long hall, hung round with the shields of the various theosophical Lodges in India and elsewhere. There were several rooms, and as we were shown into them the people whom we had seen on the verandah were either “discovered” or “entered” like actors on a stage, and duly introduced: “A Russian Countess”—the “Countess of Jersey”; “a Japanese nobleman”—the “Earl of Jersey.” We were shown the doors of Kathiawar wood rather well carved, and beyond there was a kind of Sanctuary with two large paintings of Mahatmas behind doors like those of a Roman Catholic altarpiece. I believe that it was behind those doors that Madame Blavatsky was supposed to have performed a miracle with broken tea-cups, but I am not clear as to details and Colonel Olcott was too cute to attempt to foist the story upon us. What he did tell us was that the artist Schmiechen painted the Mahatmas without having seen them, implying some kind of inspiration. We happened to know Schmiechen, as he had painted several of our family, so when we were back in England I remarked that I had seen the pictures which he had painted without having seen the subjects. “Yes,” said he, “but I had very good photographs of them!”
Olcott told us that he intended to have portraits of the Founders of all religions in this Sanctuary, but so far the only companion of the Mahatmas was a photograph of Paracelsus. He, however, produced another photograph from somewhere and bade me prepare to respect a bishop. The bishop proved to be black! Poor Olcott! He made another attempt to convert me while at Madras by lending me copies of a rather colourless magazine—always assuring me that his Society was in no sense anti-Christian. When he called to see the effect which this publication had had upon me I remarked that I had read not only the magazine, but its advertisements, which advertised distinctly anti-Christian books. He turned the colour of beetroot, for he had never thought of the advertisements.
THE RANEES OF TRAVANCORE
While we were at Madras the then Maharajah of Travancore was invested with the insignia of the Grand Cross of the Star of India. He was a gorgeous figure wearing over a long coat of cloth-of-gold with small green spangles the pale-blue satin cloak of the Order, which cost him two thousand rupees at Calcutta. His white turban was adorned with beautiful emeralds. The right of succession in Travancore is peculiar, being transmitted to males through females. As there were no directly royal females in 1857, this Maharajah’s uncle adopted two Ranees to be “Mothers of Princes.” The elder Ranee was charming and highly educated, but unfortunately had no children, and her husband, though a clever man (perhaps too clever!) got into difficulties and was banished. The Ranee declined all the suggestions of her friends that she should divorce him, and her constancy was rewarded by his recall to her side. This marital fidelity pleased Queen Victoria so much that she sent the Princess a decoration.
The younger Ranee had two sons, of whom one, called the First Prince, was considered Heir Presumptive and was present at the Investiture. He did not strike me as much of a man, and he and the Maharajah were reported not to be on friendly terms. Ladies marry in Travancore by accepting a cloth (i.e. sari) from a man—if they do not like him they have only to send it back, which constitutes a divorce.
Sir Mount Stuart Grant Duff, when Governor of Madras, was admiring the embroidered cloth of one of these Travancore ladies and innocently said that he would like to send her a cloth from Madras as a specimen of the handiwork executed there, to which she promptly retorted that she was much obliged, but that she was quite satisfied with her present husband.
Although I refrain from descriptions in a general way, I must include some reference to a journey in the southern part of the Presidency which Lord Connemara kindly arranged for us, as it is less well known than Madras itself and other cities generally visited. Also this part of the country will doubtless change rapidly, if it has not already done so.
A long day’s journey took us to Tanjore, where the temporary District Judge, Mr. Fawcett, was good enough to receive us in his bungalow and show us the sights. The great Temple rejoices in the name of Bahadeeswara-swami-kovil and is said to have been built in the eleventh century. The Gôpuram or great pyramidical tower, 216 feet from the base to the top of the gilded Kalasum, which takes the place of our Cross, is most imposing. It is covered with carvings, and amongst them we were shown the head and bust of an Englishman in a round hat commonly called “John Bright.” The attendants point to this with pride, saying that it was put there when the temple was originally built, on account of a prophecy that the English would one day possess the land. We were struck by the wonderful foresight of the Hindu prophets in the time of William the Conqueror, as they foretold not only the advent of the English, but also their costume 800 years after the date of the prophecy.
THE PRINCESSES OF TANJORE