A Bengalee Baboo is often voted a man of tall talk. Platitude is his forte. This is surely true to a certain extent; and until he descends from the elevated region of speculation to the matter of fact arena of practice, both his writings and harangues must necessarily prove abortive. He must learn to exchange his verbosity for action in the great battle of life. Every great politician or statesman must have a thorough practical training to enable him to overcome the opposition of different factions whose interests are jeopardised by his success, and to render his administration a blessing to the people. He must be prepared to grow and advance under adverse influences. The history of that consummate statesman, Sir Salar Jung, of that distinguished scholar and councillor, Sir T. Madeo Rao, of that astute minister, Maharajah Sir Dinkur Rao, furnishes the most convincing examples of superior administrative ability combined with practical wisdom. Lord Northbrook, in a recent speech at Birmingham, has made honorable mention of these three eminent statesmen, whose valuable services in their respective spheres have long since established their substantial claims to the the gratitude of their fellow countrymen. When Sir Salar Jung visited Europe, his very comprehensive and enlightened views elicited the admiration of several of the wisest statesmen of the age. His able and successful administration at Hyderabad, amidst the fierce opposition of factious parties, affords an admirable illustration of his superior practical wisdom. When, some thirty years ago, Maharajah Sir Dinkur Rao visited Calcutta, he was the wonder of all who heard him enunciate, in a telling speech at the Town Hall, his high, noble and practical views on civil Government. The speech was not made feverish by visions of indistinct good, as Mr. Theodore Dickens said, but it was a clear exposition of the liberal sentiments of a wise statesman.
The Bengalees are not a warlike race. Their traditional habits and usages, their physique, their diet and dress, their natural tendency to slothfulness and effeminacy, their proverbial quietude, their general want of pluck and manly spirit, their ascetic composure, placing the chief joys of life in rest and competency,—an heirloom descended from their ancestors,—all indicate an unwarlike temperament. During the Mutiny of 1875,—an event which in atrocious acts of cruelty incomparably surpasses all other historical events ever recorded,—that kind hearted Governor General, Lord Canning, was advised to introduce Martial Law into Calcutta, but he negatived the proposal by emphatically declaring in the Council Chamber that the Bengalees are a mild, tame, inoffensive and loyal race of people, whose only weapon of defence is a simple penknife. A common Police constable with his baton is to them a grim master of authority. A red-coated Highlander is formidable enough to cope with and drive away an immense crowd of Bengalees even in the very heart of the City of Palaces, while in the villages all shops and houses are closed at the very sight of an European soldier in his uniform. In fact, Bengal can well be governed by a handful of Native Police constables, especially when the Arms' Act is in full force. Unlike the military races of Upper India, or the border tribes, the Bengalees will never, even under the influence of the most aggravated wrongs and injuries, retaliate or resort to such a desperate court of appeal as war and murder.
English is the adopted language of a Bengalee Baboo. It is an instructive study to take a cursory view of the rapid progress of English education throughout India from the day when David Hare had held out pecuniary inducements to Hindoo youths to attend his school, and Dr. Duff called in the aid of Rammohun Roy to found the infant General Assembly's Institution, now developed into the largest College in India. Fifty years ago, who dreamt or even hazarded a prediction that a Native lad of sixteen or seventeen years of age would venture to traverse the perilous ocean and compete for the Civil Service Examination in England, paying no heed whatever to the manifold disadvantages arising from social persecution, and the disruption of domestic relations of the tenderest nature. When Bacon said that knowledge is power, he certainly did not mean physical but intellectual power. It is the irresistible influence of this power that has inspirited an Indian youth to appear at the English "open competition" for the purpose of winning academic spurs and entering a closely fenced service; it is the quickening influence of this power, combined with an enterprising spirit, that has gradually enabled a mere handful of English adventurers to convert a small factory into one of the vastest empires in the East. The gigantic strides that English education has made in India within a short time, have been the wonder of the age, the foundation rock of her ultimate emancipation, socially, morally and intellectually. The prison wall round the mind which ages had reared and learning fortified has been completely demolished, and not only men but matronly zenana females have picked up a few crumbs of broken English words which they occasionally use in familiar conversation, for instance, Rail, Talygraf, Guvner, Juj Majister, High Cote, etc.
Some of the Bengalee Baboos read and write English with remarkable fluency, and the epistolary correspondence of most of them is commonly carried on in that language. When two or more educated Baboos meet together, or take their constitutional in the morning, they perhaps talk of some reading articles in the Anglo-Indian or English journals or periodicals, and eagerly communicate to each other "the flotsam and jetsam of advanced European thoughts, the ripest outcome in the Nineteenth century, or the aftermath in the Fortnightly," as if the vernacular dialect were not at all fitted for the communication of their ideas. It is a pity that the cultivation and improvement of a national literature—the embodiment of national thought and taste and the mainspring of national enlightenment—seldom or never engages their serious attention. But it is a great mistake to suppose that the large mass of the Indian population can be thoroughly instructed and reformed through the medium of a foreign language. The richness and copiousness of modern English, combining as it does conciseness with solidity and perspicuity, are admittedly very great; it is admirably adapted for the educated few, but it is not equally suited to the capacity and comprehension of the many. It is incumbent, therefore, on all well disposed Hindoos, who have the real welfare of their country at heart, to endeavour to fertilise their national literature by transplanting into it the advanced thoughts of modern Europe, and to enrich it with copiousness, such as would obviate its acknowledged deficiency and barrenness. Until this is done, it is as unreasonable to expect elegance and perfection in the national literature as it is to expect harvest in seed-time or the full vigor of manhood in the incipient state of childhood.
Assuredly the Bengalees are a race of keranees or writers, as Napoleon said the English were a nation of shopkeepers. Every morning and evening, almost all the main streets of Calcutta leading to the English quarter—bright prospect for the Tramway—are literally thronged with dense crowds of keranees in their white cloth uniform, busily making for their respective offices, either in shabby looking third class hackney carriages or on foot. A foreigner not used to such sights cannot fail almost unconsciously to come to a conclusion that the Bengalees are a nation of keranees. Every Government, Railway or Merchant's office, is filled with these Baboos, either actually employed or serving on probation, biding their time in fond expectation of picking up a slice of official bread, buttered or unbuttered. Even graduates of the Calcutta University do not hesitate to serve as apprentices, because a collegiate course does not teach the rules of bureaucracy or official routine. Most of them are good copyists or clever accountants, while a few are correspondence clerks. As a rule, their pay is very small compared with what is given to English Clerks, for reasons which I need not dilate upon here.
Within the range of our experience, extending over fifty years, we remember only one Native gentleman—Baboo Shama Churn Dey, the present vice-chairman of the Calcutta Municipality—who, by his tried ability, intelligence and integrity has managed to climb to the top of keraneedom. In recognition of his high efficiency his salary has been raised to one thousand Rupees a month, in spite of many instances of supersession. I, in common with others, am fully persuaded that had he been a British-born Civilian, he would undoubtedly have drawn a much larger salary. But it is useless to repine at a misfortune which is inevitable.
Even the amusements of a Bengalee Baboo are more or less anglicised. Instead of the traditional Jattras, (representations) and Cobees (popular ballads) he has gradually imbibed a taste for theatrical performances, and native musical instruments are superseded by European flutes, concertinas and harmoniums, organs and piano-fortes. This is certainly a decided improvement on the old antiquated system, demonstrating the slow growth of a refined taste. Thus we see in almost every phase of life, at home or outside, the Bengalee Baboo is Europeanized. In his style of living, in his mode of dress, in his writings, in his public and private utterances, in his household arrangements and furniture, in his bearing and department, in his social intercourse, in his mental accomplishments, and in fact, in his passionate partiality for Western æsthetics, he is a modified Anglo-Indian. But it were devoutly to be wished that he possessed a larger admixture of the essential elements of European truthfulness of character, energy and manliness of spirit, straightforwardness in his dealings with society, nobility of sentiment, magnanimity combined with simplicity, disinterested love and sympathy, and above all, moral and spiritual elevation.