—Pantagruel.
“The Bengal Legislative4 Council is sitting now. You will find it in an octagonal wing of Writers’ Buildings: straight across the maidan. It’s worth seeing.” “What are they sitting on?” “Municipal business. No end of a debate.” So much for trying to keep low company. The long-shore loafers must stand over. Without doubt this Council is going to hang some one for the state of the City, and Sir Steuart Bayley will be chief executioner. One does not come across Councils every day.
Writers’ Buildings are large. You can trouble the busy workers of half-a-dozen departments before you stumble upon the black-stained staircase that leads to an upper chamber5 looking out over a populous6 street. Wild chuprassis block the way. The Councillor Sahibs are sitting, but anyone can enter. “To the right of the Lât Sahib’s chair, and go quietly.” Ill-mannered minion7! Does he expect the awe8-stricken spectator to prance9 in with a jubilant warwhoop or turn Catherine-wheels round that sumptuous10 octagonal room with the blue-domed roof? There are gilt12 capitals to the half pillars, and an Egyptian patterned lotus-stencil makes the walls decorously gay. A thick-piled carpet covers all the floor, and must be delightful13 in the hot weather. On a black wooden throne, comfortably cushioned in green leather, sits Sir Steuart Bayley, Ruler of Bengal. The rest are all great men, or else they would not be there. Not to know them argues one’s self unknown. There are a dozen of them, and sit six-a-side at two slightly curved lines of beautifully polished desks. Thus Sir Steuart Bayley occupies the frog of a badly made horse-shoe split at the toe. In front of him, at a table covered with books and pamphlets and papers, toils14 a secretary. There is a seat for the Reporters, and that is all. The place enjoys a chastened gloom, and its very atmosphere fills one with awe. This is the heart of Bengal, and uncommonly15 well upholstered. If the work matches the first-class furniture, the inkpots, the carpet, and the resplendent ceiling, there will be something worth seeing. But where is the criminal who is to be hanged for the stench that runs up and down Writers’ Buildings staircases, for the rubbish heaps in the Chitpore Road, for the sickly savor16 of Chouringhi, for the dirty little tanks at the back of Belvedere, for the street full of smallpox17, for the reeking18 gharri-stand outside the Great Eastern, for the state of the stone and dirt pavements, for the condition of the gullies of Shampooker, and for a hundred other things?
“This, I submit, is an artificial scheme in supersession19 of Nature’s unit, the individual.” The speaker is a slight, spare native in a flat hat-turban, and a black alpaca frock-coat. He looks like a vakil to the boot-heels, and, with his unvarying smile and regulated gesticulation, recalls memories of up-country courts. He never hesitates, is never at a loss for a word, and never in one sentence repeats himself. He talks and talks and talks in a level voice, rising occasionally half an octave when a point has to be driven home. Some of his periods sound very familiar. This, for instance, might be a sentence from the Mirror: “So much for the principle. Let us now examine how far it is supported by precedent20.” This sounds bad. When a fluent native is discoursing21 of “principles” and “precedents22,” the chances are that he will go on for some time. Moreover, where is the criminal, and what is all this talk about abstractions? They want shovels23, not sentiments, in this part of the world.
A friendly whisper brings enlightenment: “They are plowing24 through the Calcutta Municipal Bill—plurality of votes you know; here are the papers.” And so it is! A mass of motions and amendments25 on matters relating to ward2 votes. Is A to be allowed to give two votes in one ward and one in another? Is section 10 to be omitted, and is one man to be allowed one vote and no more? How many votes does three hundred rupees’ worth of landed property carry? Is it better to kiss a post or throw it in the fire? Not a word about carbolic acid and gangs of domes27. The little man in the black choga revels28 in his subject. He is great on principles and precedents, and the necessity of “popularizing our system.” He fears that under certain circumstances “the status of the candidates will decline.” He riots in “self-adjusting majorities,” and the “healthy influence of the educated middle classes.”
For a practical answer to this, there steals across the council chamber just one faint whiff. It is as though some one laughed low and bitterly. But no man heeds29. The Englishmen look supremely30 bored, the native members stare stolidly31 in front of them. Sir Steuart Bayley’s face is as set as the face of the Sphinx. For these things he draws his pay, and his is a low wage for heavy labor32. But the speaker, now adrift, is not altogether to be blamed. He is a Bengali, who has got before him just such a subject as his soul loveth—an elaborate piece of academical reform leading no-whither. Here is a quiet room full of pens and papers, and there are men who must listen to him. Apparently33 there is no time limit to the speeches. Can you wonder that he talks? He says “I submit” once every ninety seconds, varying the form with “I do submit.” “The popular element in the electoral body should have prominence34.” Quite so. He quotes one John Stuart Mill to prove it. There steals over the listener a numbing35 sense of nightmare. He has heard all this before somewhere—yea; even down to J. S. Mill and the references to the “true interests of the ratepayers.” He sees what is coming next. Yes, there is the old Sabha Anjuman journalistic formula—“Western education is an exotic plant of recent importation.” How on earth did this man drag Western education into this discussion? Who knows? Perhaps Sir Steuart Bayley does. He seems to be listening. The others are looking at their watches. The spell of the level voice sinks the listener yet deeper into a trance. He is haunted by the ghosts of all the cant36 of all the political platforms of Great Britain. He hears all the old, old vestry phrases, and once more he smells the smell. That is no dream. Western education is an exotic plant. It is the upas tree, and it is all our fault. We brought it out from England exactly as we brought out the ink bottles and the patterns for the chairs. We planted it and it grew—monstrous as a banian. Now we are choked by the roots of it spreading so thickly in this fat soil of Bengal. The speaker continues. Bit by bit. We builded this dome11, visible and invisible, the crown of Writers’ Buildings, as we have built and peopled the buildings. Now we have gone too far to retreat, being “tied and bound with the chain of our own sins.” The speech continues. We made that florid sentence. That torrent37 of verbiage38 is ours. We taught him what was constitutional and what was unconstitutional in the days when Calcutta smelt39. Calcutta smells still, but we must listen to all that he has to say about the plurality of votes and the threshing of wind and the weaving of ropes of sand. It is our own fault absolutely.
The speech ends, and there rises a gray Englishman in a black frock-coat. He looks a strong man, and a worldly. Surely he will say: “Yes, Lala Sahib, all this may be true talk, but there’s a burra krab smell in this place, and everything must be safkaroed in a week, or the Deputy Commissioner40 will not take any notice of you in durbar.” He says nothing of the kind. This is a Legislative Council, where they call each other “Honorable So-and-So’s.” The Englishman in the frock-coat begs all to remember that “we are discussing principles, and no consideration of the details ought to influence the verdict on the principles.” Is he then like the rest? How does this strange thing come about? Perhaps these so English office fittings are responsible for the warp41. The Council Chamber might be a London Board-room. Perhaps after long years among the pens and papers its occupants grow to think that it really is, and in this belief give résumés of the history of Local Self-Government in England.
The black frock-coat, emphasizing his points with his spectacle-case, is telling his friends how the parish was first the unit of self-government. He then explains how burgesses were elected, and in tones of deep fervor42 announces: “Commissioners of Sewers43 are elected in the same way.” Whereunto all this lecture? Is he trying to run a motion through under cover of a cloud of words, essaying the well-known “cuttle-fish trick” of the West?
He abandons England for a while, and now we get a glimpse of the cloven hoof44 in a casual reference to Hindus and Mahomedans. The Hindus will lose nothing by the complete establishment of plurality of votes. They will have the control of their own wards1 as they used to have. So there is race-feeling, to be explained away, even among these beautiful desks. Scratch the Council, and you come to the old, old trouble. The black frock-coat sits down, and a keen-eyed, black-bearded Englishman rises with one hand in his pocket to explain his views on an alteration45 of the vote qualification. The idea of an amendment26 seems to have just struck him. He hints that he will bring it forward later on. He is academical like the others, but not half so good a speaker. All this is dreary46 beyond words. Why do they talk and talk about owners and occupiers and burgesses in England and the growth of autonomous47 institutions when the city, the great city, is here crying out to be cleansed48? What has England to do with Calcutta’s evil, and why should Englishmen be forced to wander through mazes49 of unprofitable argument against men who cannot understand the iniquity50 of dirt?
A pause follows the black-bearded man’s speech. Rises another native, a heavily-built Babu, in a black gown and a strange head-dress. A snowy white strip of cloth is thrown jharun-wise over his shoulders. His voice is high, and not always under control. He begins: “I will try to be as brief as possible.” This is ominous51. By the way, in Council there seems to be no necessity for a form of address. The orators52 plunge53 in medias res, and only when they are well launched throw an occasional “Sir” toward Sir Steuart Bayley, who sits with one leg doubled under him and a dry pen in his hand. This speaker is no good. He talks, but he says nothing, and he only knows where he is drifting to. He says: “We must remember that we are legislating54 for the Metropolis55 of India, and therefore we should borrow our institutions from large English towns, and not from parochial institutions.” If you think for a minute, that shows a large and healthy knowledge of the history of Local Self-Government. It also reveals the attitude of Calcutta. If the city thought less about itself as a metropolis and more as a midden, its state would be better. The speaker talks patronizingly of “my friend,” alluding56 to the black frock-coat. Then he flounders afresh, and his voice gallops57 up the gamut58 as he declares, “and therefore that makes all the difference.” He hints vaguely59 at threats, something to do with the Hindus and the Mahomedans, but what he means it is difficult to discover. Here, however, is a sentence taken verbatim. It is not likely to appear in this form in the Calcutta papers. The black frock-coat had said that if a wealthy native “had eight votes to his credit, his vanity would prompt him to go to the polling-booth, because he would feel better than half-a-dozen gharri-wans or petty traders.” (Fancy allowing a gharri-wan to vote! He has yet to learn how to drive!) Hereon the gentleman with the white cloth: “Then the complaint is that influential60 voters will not take the trouble to vote. In my humble61 opinion, if that be so, adopt voting papers. That is the way to meet them. In the same way—The Calcutta Trades’ Association—you abolish all plurality of votes: and that is the way to meet them.” Lucid62, is it not? Up flies the irresponsible voice, and delivers this statement: “In the election for the House of Commons plurality are allowed for persons having interest in different districts.” Then hopeless, hopeless fog. It is a great pity that India ever heard of anybody higher than the heads of the Civil Service. The country appeals from the Chota to the Burra Sahib all too readily as it is. Once more a whiff. The gentleman gives a defiant63 jerk of his shoulder-cloth, and sits down.
Then Sir Steuart Bayley: “The question before the Council is,” etc. There is a ripple64 of “Ayes” and “Noes,” and the “Noes” have it, whatever it may be. The black-bearded gentleman springs his amendment about the voting qualifications. A large senator in a white waistcoat, and with a most genial65 smile, rises and proceeds to smash up the amendment. Can’t see the use of it. Calls it in effect rubbish. The black frock-coat rises to explain his friend’s amendment, and incidentally makes a funny little slip. He is a knight66, and his friend has been newly knighted. He refers to him as “Mister.” The black choga, he who spoke67 first of all, speaks again, and talks of the “sojorner who comes here for a little time, and then leaves the land.” Well it is for the black choga that the sojourner68 does come, or there would be no comfy places wherein to talk about the power that can be measured by wealth and the intellect “which, sir, I submit, cannot be so measured.” The amendment is lost, and trebly and quadruply lost is the listener. In the name of sanity69 and to preserve the tattered70 shirt-tails of a torn illusion, let us escape. This is the Calcutta Municipal Bill. They have been at it for several Saturdays. Last Saturday Sir Steuart Bayley pointed71 out that at their present rate they would be about two years in getting it through. Now they will sit till dusk, unless Sir Steuart Bayley, who wants to see Lord Connemara off, puts up the black frock-coat to move an adjournment72. It is not good to see a Government close to. This leads to the formation of blatantly73 self-satisfied judgments74, which may be quite as wrong as the cramping75 system with which we have encompassed76 ourselves. And in the streets outside Englishmen summarize the situation brutally77, thus: “The whole thing is a farce78. Time is money to us. We can’t stick out those everlasting79 speeches in the municipality. The natives choke us off, but we know that if things get too bad the Government will step in and interfere80, and so we worry along somehow.” Meantime Calcutta continues to cry out for the bucket and the broom.
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1
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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minion
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| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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prance
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| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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toils
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| 网 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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smallpox
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| n.天花 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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supersession
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| 取代，废弃； 代谢 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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23
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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24
plowing
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| v.耕( plow的现在分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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amendments
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| （法律、文件的）改动( amendment的名词复数 )； 修正案； 修改； （美国宪法的）修正案 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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heeds
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| n.留心，注意，听从( heed的名词复数 )v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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41
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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42
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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43
sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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44
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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45
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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46
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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47
autonomous
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| adj.自治的；独立的 | |
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48
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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50
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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51
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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52
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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53
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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54
legislating
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| v.立法，制定法律( legislate的现在分词 ) | |
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55
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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56
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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57
gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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59
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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61
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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64
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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65
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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66
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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67
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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sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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70
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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71
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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72
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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73
blatantly
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| ad.公开地 | |
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74
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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75
cramping
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| 图像压缩 | |
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76
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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77
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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78
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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79
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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80
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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