The Parsees kept their religious affairs to themselves, and the party were not to "assist" at the ceremony, which would have been an extra inducement to attend. Promptly1 at the hour named the carriages set the tourists and their volunteer guides down at the magnificent mansion2 of the father of the young man who was to enter the marriage state that evening.
The street in the vicinity of the house was brilliantly illuminated3, and it was covered over with an awning4, from which no end of ornamental5 lamps were suspended. Behind a mass of flowers--cartloads of them--a foreign orchestra was placed. As the carriages stopped at the door, the band began a military march, whose inspiring strains seemed to give an additional lustre6 to the elaborate decorations. It was easy for the guests to believe that they had been introduced into the midst of a fairy scene. Sahib Perbut appeared at the door as soon as the vehicles stopped, and took his lordship by the hand, and each of the guests were presented to him as they alighted. The host was not an old man, as the strangers expected to find him, since he had a son who was old enough to get married.
He was very richly dressed, and he was a gentleman of unbounded suavity7. Taking Mrs. Belgrave by the hand, he conducted her into the house, the rest of the party forming a procession behind them. The Americans had been obliged to make a trip to the Guardian-Mother, to obtain garments suitable for such a "swell8" occasion, and they were all dressed in their Sunday clothes.
If the exterior9 of the splendid mansion had challenged the admiration10 of the guests, the interior presented a scene of Oriental magnificence which might have astonished even the Count of Monte Cristo. The party were conducted to the grand and lofty apartment where the Nautch was to be given. Immense mirrors reflected the brilliancy of a thousand lights; the floor was covered with the richest of carpets, the luxurious11 divans12 and sofas were overspread with the cloths of Cashmere; the elaborate richness of the costumes of the Oriental guests, and the army of servants manipulating punkas, or fans, formed a scene not unlike, while it out-rivalled, the grand dénoûment of a fairy spectacle on the stage.
The procession of foreign guests were all seated in the most conspicuous13 divans; for if Lord Tremlyn had been the Prince of Wales, he and his friends could hardly have been treated with greater distinction, as he was the unofficial representative of the predominating influence in the affairs of India near the throne of the United Kingdom and the Empire. The party were immediately beset14 with servants offering them fruit and sherbets, and they were sprinkled with rose-water from silver flagons.
The Nautch girls were not the same the tourists had seen earlier in the day. There were more of them, and they were of a finer grain; in fact, the gentlemen, who were judges, declared that most of them were really pretty. They were seated on the floor in native fashion. They had great black eyes; their complexion15 was only the least tawny16, and was paler than it would have been if they had lived on a more invigorating diet than rice and fruits.
There were half a dozen musicians, who played upon tom-toms, instruments like a fiddle17, and one that was very nearly a hurdy-gurdy, with lutes and flutes18. They gave the preliminary strains, and the dancers formed the semicircle. The performance was similar to that the party had seen at the hotel, though it was more finished, and the attitudes and posturing19 appeared to belong to a higher school of art than the other. But the whole was so nearly like what the strangers had seen before, that they were not absorbed by it, and gave more attention to the people attending the feast; for they were an exceedingly interesting study to them.
After the performance had continued about a quarter of an hour there was a pause, and the dancers retreated to a corner of the room, seating themselves again on the floor. At this moment Sahib Perbut came into the grand saloon leading a boy, who did not appear to be more than ten years old, by the hand. He was dressed in the most richly ornamented20 garments, and he was an exceedingly pretty little fellow. He was conducted to the viscount.
"Will your Lordship permit me to present to you and your friends my son Dinshaw, in whose honor I am making this feast? This is Lord Tremlyn, my son," said the father, who was evidently very proud of the boy.
"Sahib Dinshaw, I am very happy to make your acquaintance," replied his lordship, as he rose and took the hand of the young gentleman, whom he introduced to every member of his party.
They all followed the example of the viscount, and addressed him as "Sahib Dinshaw," the title being equivalent to "Lord," or "Master," applied21 by the natives to their employers, and to the English generally. All of them gazed at him with intense interest, not unmingled with admiration. The hero of the occasion spoke22 English as fluently as his father.
"How old are you, Sahib Dinshaw?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, who was strongly tempted23 to kiss the little fellow; but she was afraid it would not be in order, and she refrained.
"I am ten years old, madam," replied Dinshaw, with the sweetest of smiles.
"And you have been married this evening, sahib?" continued the lady.
"I should not ask him any questions in that direction," interposed Sir Modava, afraid she would meddle24 with an interdicted25 subject; and the young gentleman's father seemed to have a similar fear, for he gently led him away.
He was introduced to the members of the "Big Four," who could hardly keep their faces at the proper length after hearing what passed between the youthful sahib and Mrs. Belgrave, at the idea of a ten-year-old bridegroom.
"Is it possible that this little fellow is married, Sir Modava?" exclaimed the principal lady from Von Blonk Park.
"There can be no doubt of it," replied the Hindu gentleman. "But it is hardly in the same sense that marriage takes place in England and America. The bride will be received into this Parsee family, and the groom26 will remain here; but everything in the domestic circle will continue very nearly as it was before, and husband and wife will pursue their studies."
"It looks very strange to us," added the lady.
"It is the custom of the country. The British government does not interfere27 unnecessarily with matters interwoven into the religion and habits of the people, though it has greatly modified the manners of the natives, and abolished some barbarous customs. The 'suttee,' as the English called the Sanscrit word sati meaning 'a virtuous28 wife,' was a Hindu institution which required that a faithful wife should burn herself on the funeral pyre with the body of her deceased husband; or if he died at a distance from his home, that she should sacrifice herself on one of her own."
"How horrible! I have read of it, but hardly believed it," added the lady; and others who were listening expressed the same feeling.
"It was a custom in India before the time of Christ. Some of your American Indians bury the weapons of the dead chief, food, and other articles with him, as has been the custom of other nations, in the belief that they will need these provisions in the 'happy hunting-ground.' The Hindus believed that the dead husband would need his wife on the other shore; and this is the meaning of the custom."
"It is not wholly a senseless custom," said Mrs. Woolridge, "barbarous as it seems."
"In 1828, or a little later, Lord William Cavendish, then Governor-General of Bengal, determined29 to abolish the custom, though he encountered the fiercest opposition30 from the natives, and even from many Europeans, who dreaded31 the effect of his action. He carried a law through the council, making it punishable homicide, or manslaughter, to burn a widow. In 1823 there were five hundred and seventy-five of them burned in the Bengal Presidency32; but after the enactment33 of the law, the number began to decrease. The treaties with the Indian princes contained a clause forbidding it. The custom is really discontinued, though an occasional instance of it comes to light."
The dancing had been renewed, and this conversation continued till later. At this wedding Lord Tremlyn met a gentleman whom he introduced to some of his party as Sahib Govind. This gentleman had just invited him to visit a theatrical34 performance at a private house, such as a European can very rarely witness.
"I never went to a theatre in my life!" protested Mrs. Belgrave.
"But this is a representation in connection with the religious traditions of the Hindus," argued his lordship.
It was decided35 to go, the scruples36 of the Methodists being overcome by the fact that it was a religious occasion, and not at all like the stage performances of New York. The carriages conveyed them to the house indicated by Sahib Govind, and they were conducted to a hall, at one end of which was a stage, with a thin calico curtain in front of it. The performance was just beginning.
A Brahmin came out in front of the curtain, with some musicians, and set up an image of Ganesa, the god of wisdom; then he prayed this idol37 to enlighten the minds of the actors, and enable them to perform their parts well, which was certainly very untheatrical, the Americans thought, when Sir Modava had translated the substance of the invocation. The Brahmin then announced that the subject of the play was the loves of the god Krishna.
"Who is the hero of the piece, Sir Modava?" asked Mr. Woolridge, who was a theatre-goer at home.
"He is really Vishnu, one of the Hindu trinity, known as the preserver. Vishnu has a considerable number of forms, or incarnations, one of which is Krishna, the most human of them all."
The curtain rose, and cut short the explanation. The scene, painted on canvas, was an Indian temple. A figure with an enormous wig38, his half-naked body daubed all over with yellow paint, was seated before it, abstracted in the deepest meditation39. The interpreter told them it was Rishi, a supernatural power, a genius who is a protector to those who need his services. Then a crowd of gods and goddesses rushed on the stage, and each of them made a long speech to the devotee-god, which Sir Modava had not time to render into English, even with the aid of Sahib Govind.
The actors were fantastically dressed. One had an elephant's head, and all of them wore high gilt40 mitres. Krishna enters, and the other divinities make their exit. He is a nice-looking young man, painted blue, and dressed like a king. His wife enters, and throws herself at his feet. Then she reproaches him for forsaking41 her, in a soft and musical voice, her eyes raining tears all the time. She embraces his knees.
Then appears the rival in her affections with Krishna, Rukmini, an imperious woman, and tells by what artifices42 she has conquered the weak husband. Then follows a spirited dialogue between the two women. The rival boasts of her descent from Vishnu, and of her beauty and animation43, and reproaches Krishna with his unworthy love. Sir Modava wrote this down in his memorandum44 book, and handed it to the Americans.
Satyavama, the wife, insists that her only crime was her love for her divine husband. She narrates45 her early history, when she was a peasant girl on the banks of the Jumna, with her companions, and drew upon herself the attention of the god. Her life had been simple, and she had always been a faithful wife. Yet Rukmini triumphs over her. Her pride is aroused; she rushes off, and returns with her little son.
"Kill us both, since we cannot live without your love!" the interpreters rendered her piteous cry. The rival ridicules46 her, and, urged on by her, Krishna hands her a cup of poison, which she drinks, and sinks to the ground.
"It is not the poison that rends47 me; it is that my heart is broken by the ingratitude48 of one I have so dearly loved." She forgives him, and dies.
But not thus does the Indian love-story end; for the genie49 enters, and in thundering tones calls Krishna to an account for his deeds. The festive50 god is tortured with remorse51, but has no excuse to offer. He drives Rukmini from him, and implores52 the yellow-painted god for forgiveness; and, as he is the preserver, it is granted. Satyavama is brought back to life. She presents her son to her husband, who holds out his arms to embrace him; and the curtain drops in a blaze of Bengal lights, and the "Wah! Wahs!" of the Hindu audience.
The interpreters finished their explanations, and the company retired53 with the salaams54 of the crowd. It was very late when they retired to rest that night.
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1
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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7
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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8
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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11
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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12
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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17
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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19
posturing
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| 做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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23
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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24
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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interdicted
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| v.禁止（行动）( interdict的过去式和过去分词 )；禁用；限制 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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27
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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28
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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31
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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32
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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enactment
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| n.演出，担任…角色；制订，通过 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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36
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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40
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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41
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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42
artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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43
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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45
narrates
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| v.故事( narrate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
ridicules
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| n.嘲笑( ridicule的名词复数 )；奚落；嘲弄；戏弄v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
rends
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| v.撕碎( rend的第三人称单数 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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48
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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49
genie
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| n.妖怪，神怪 | |
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50
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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51
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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52
implores
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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salaams
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| （穆斯林的）额手礼，问安，敬礼( salaam的名词复数 ) | |
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