July 3.—After continuing our explorations of Sirinugger, we repaired, about seven o’clock, to the Maharajah’s palace, where we were received by a guard of honour of sixty men and four officers, the latter in gold embroidered dresses, [[85]]and hung all over with ear-rings and finery of divers sorts and kinds.
Ascending the stairs, we were met by the Deewan, or prime minister, who conducted us into an open sort of terrace over the river, where we found the Maharajah with the few English officers already arrived seated on either side of him, and the nach-girls, about twenty in number, squatted in a semicircle opposite them. Standing behind his Highness were colonels of regiments and native dignitaries of all sorts, dressed in cloth of gold and jewels, and in every variety and hue of turban and appointments. A number of these were Sikhs; and magnificent-looking men they were, with their flowing dress and fiercely-twisted whiskers and mustachios. The nach-girls, too—a motley group—were attired in all the hues of the rainbow, and with the white-robed musicians behind them, awaited in patience the signal to commence. In singular contrast to this glittering throng, which formed the court, were the guests whom the Maharajah, on this occasion, delighted to honour. The British officer appeared generally in the national but uncourtly costume of a shooting jacket! and though some few had donned their uniform, and one rejoiced in the traditional swallow-tail of unmistakeable civilization, neither [[86]]the one nor the other contrasted favourably in point of grace with the Cashmerian rank and fashion.
After shaking hands with his Highness, who prides himself upon his English way of accomplishing that ceremony, and does it by slipping into one’s hand what might be taken for a dying flat fish, we took our seats, and the dancing began shortly afterwards. Though on a more magnificent scale than anything I had seen of the kind before, the programme was flat and insipid enough. The ladies came out two and two, and went through a monotonous die-away movement, acting, dancing, and singing all at the same time, and showing off their red-stained palms and the soles of their feet to the best advantage. Some of the women were very pretty, but very properly they modified their charms by dressing in the most unbecoming manner possible. Their head-dress was a little cloth of gold and silver cap hung all round with pendent ornaments, and these were becoming enough, but the remainder of the dress was much more trying. A short body of shot silk was separated by a natural border from a gauze skirt, which hung down perfectly straight and innocent of fulness, and allowed a pair of white pyjamas to appear beneath. These were fastened [[87]]tightly round the ancles, which were encircled by little bunches of the tinkling bells, which the ladies make such use of in the dance. Round the shoulders comes a filmy scarf of various colours, which also plays a prominent part in all their movements, and answers in its way to the fan of more accomplished Western belles.
After each couple had gone through the whole of their performances, they used to squat themselves down suddenly in the most ungraceful style imaginable, and were then relieved by another pair of artistes from the group.
One lady, in addition to the dance, favoured us with “the Marseillaise” with the French words, being occasionally prompted by the head of the orchestra, who nearly worked himself into a frenzy while accompanying the dancers with both vocal and instrumental music at the same time. The Maharajah himself was plainly dressed in white robes, with a pair of pale-green striped silk pantaloons fitting his legs like stockings from the knee down, and terminating in a pair of English socks, of which he seemed immensely proud. His turban was of the palest shade of green, and (in strong contrast to the rest of his court) without any ornament whatever. The little heir to the throne—a nice little blackamoor of about eight years of age—was, [[88]]like his father, perched upon a chair, and arrayed in a green and gold turban, pants, and socks, with the addition of a velvet gold-embroidered coat, while round his neck were three or four valuable necklaces, one of pear-shaped emeralds of great size and beauty. After a few dances the doors of the banqueting-room were thrown open, and his Highness led the way into dinner with the commissioner. On entering, we found a capital dinner laid out English fashion, and with a formidable army of black bottles ranged along the table. The Maharajah, however, had disappeared, and we were left to feed without a host. The grandees, meanwhile, remained outside, and still enjoyed the dances, ranging themselves upon their haunches in front of the rows of chairs which not one among them would have dared to trust himself in for either love or money. Considering that our entertainer was a Hindoo, and that his dinner-giving appliances were limited, each person having to bring his own knife, fork, spoon, and chair, we fared very well, and after having drunk his health, again assembled in the court, where we found Rumbeer Singh still occupied with the wearisome nach, and reattired in a gorgeous dress of green velvet and gold. After a short stay he got up, and we all followed his example, glad enough [[89]]to bring the entertainment to an end, and betake ourselves to our boats. At the stairs there was a desperate encounter with innumerable boatmen, each boat having six, eight, or ten sailors, and all being equally anxious to uphold the credit of their craft by being the first to land their masters safe, at home. We were fortunate enough to reach our own at once, and, with a shouting crew, away we dashed up the river, leaving the others struggling, fighting, and flourishing their paddles in the air, in a way which was more suggestive of an insurrection scene in Masaniello than the departure of guests from a peaceable gentleman’s own hall door on the night of an evening party.
On the stairs there was an extraordinary assemblage of slippers, which seemed to hold the same relative position that hats and cloaks do in more enlightened communities—that is, the good ones were taken by the owners of the bad, and the proprietors of the bad ones were fain to make the best of the exchange. Next morning our khidmutgar came up with a most doleful countenance and presented to our notice a pair of certainly most ill-favoured slippers, which a fellow true-believer had inadvertently substituted for a pair of later date. The lost ones had, in fact, only recently been received from the boot-maker; [[90]]and the blow was difficult to bear with resignation, even by the saintliest follower of Islam—a reputation which our retainer came short of by a very long way indeed.
July 4.—Having an accumulation of letters to answer, we devoted the day to writing—merely enjoying a little otium cum dig.—in the evening, reclining in our boat while serenaded by the crew of boatmen.
July 5.—Walked up, before daybreak, to the Tukht e Sûleeman, or Solomon’s throne, “the mountainous Portal,” which Moore speaks of in Lalla Rookh, and which forms the most striking landmark in the valley.[3]
Solomon’s Throne.