428 CHAPTER XLI. THE TALE OF LUCKNOW. I built my soul a lordly pleasure house, N a few hours it became apparent that we were approaching a large city. The social respectability of Lucknow was manifested by the appearance on the road of gaily dressed horsemen and stylish little pony pavilions laden with figures, arrayed in Persian silks and Cashmere shawls. Ample testimony to the piety of Lucknow was afforded by a large party of those brown-clad carriers of Hurdwar water, of whom I have already spoken, going in with supplies for the spiritual refreshment of its inhabitants; and its commercial importance was evidenced in the spectacle of strings of camels laden with merchandise, and driven by strong, tawdry Cabul Natives say that some of these huge denizens of the North, before setting out on their distant journey, record a vow that they will neither wash nor change their clothing till they return home. And truly their appearance does not tend to invalidate the statement. men. As we drew near the city, the luxuriance of the country seemed to increase, until having reached the Alumbagh (or CH. XLI.] A HERO'S GRAVE. 429 Queen's Garden), which is situated in the outskirts, we could perceive its spires glistening above a luxuriance of vegetation, apparently too dense to afford a site for a village. But the Alumbagh, built as an abode of sensualism, had been transformed into a temple of fame; for there, fronting the entrance, stood the grave of Havelock. This once beautiful garden is at present, I believe, employed for the cultivation of grain and vegetables. It was then no more than a neglected compound surrounded by brick walls, which the strife of 1857 had partly destroyed. In the centre rose the large square mansion wherein the deliverer planned his attack, now charred and defaced by the action of artillery, the sunlight gleaming through its void windows, and flooding its deserted halls. A poor patch of dhal, sown in a solitary corner, was struggling through the barren soil, and together with a tope of mango trees, which had somehow escaped the devastation, formed the only oasis in a scene of ruin, where half-a-dozen lean kine, attended by a couple of children, were attempting the apparently impossible task of picking up a subsistence. Such is the resting-place of Sir Henry Havelock, whose deeds, on which, as many will remember, the national anxiety hung with terrible suspense during the early period of the Mutiny, are recorded on a marble tablet affixed to the obelisk which surmounts the tomb. On that spot where he first stood, amidst a brave soldier band and the bristling accoutrements of war, the hero found a retired and solitary grave. It has been variously stated that Lucknow is a more attractive city than Rome, Constantinople, or even Paris; but, for my own part, I cannot recognize in any of these places a sufficient basis of comparison. To imagine some of the more ornate buildings of the three gathered together, adorned with a rich profusion of domes and columns, and planted at irregular intervals in a grove many miles in circumference, is perhaps to realize some notion of Lucknow, so wide is the range of its magnificence, so very beautiful is that Indian city as seen from the vicinity of the river Goomtee, extending in a line of palaces four miles along the opposite bank. A nearer and truer acquaintance with this urban splendour, however, proves that distance had lent it enchantment by concealing some of the poorer features of the town; and it remains to be added that the more elaborate erections themselves are chiefly of the gewgaw order of architecture, being composed of brick white-cast with chunam, while the gilded cupolas flashing so grandly in the sunlight are in many cases but painted wooden shells. The destruction which overtook some of these palaces during the Mutiny, had the effect of sweeping away many of the filthy dens then clustered around them; and, as the spacious public thoroughfares have been more recently cleared and improved by the local government, Lucknow is, at the present day, a very attractive station, more so, indeed, than it was before the outbreak of those hostilities, the devastating marks of which it continues to exhibit. Unlike other great Indian cities, Lucknow only belongs to modern history. A hundred years have not passed since it first rose into prominence as the residence of the Court of Oude. Time has not imparted to it the mouldering and obliterated aspect of such places as Delhi and Agra; it is still sufficiently young to be fresh and fair. XLI.] ORIGIN AND PROGRESS. 431 The record goes that the present city occupies the site of sixty-four villages which stood within the bounds of an ancient forest, where 60,000 moonees, or Hindoo saints, read their sacred books together and performed rigid acts of penance. History tells us, however, that Asf-o-dowla was the first of the Viziers who elevated Lucknow to the rank of a city and the dignity of a capital. On the accession of that prince in 1775, it was merely a large town comprising a few hundreds of houses of ordinary appearance; yet, in the comparatively short interval between that period and the time of annexation by the Marquis of Dalhousie, it had risen to the height of its splendour, and was computed to contain from 800,000 to 900,000 inhabitants—a number equal to the united populations of Delhi and Benares. Thus the volume describing the magnificence of Lucknow would be greater than that recording its history. An ephemeral city it may well be called; not that the revolution was so widely destructive of its masonry, nor that the elements have made unusual haste to tarnish its finery, but because it sprung rapidly into existence, served a short-lived purpose, and, in its capacity as a nucleus of grandeur, has no proper vocation now. The present population is estimated at about 300,000, the ranks of poverty and idleness having been happily thinned since the period of native rule. Although, perhaps, some account in the form of a connected narrative of the city of Lucknow and its short-lived glory might not yet be altogether without interest to some readers, I need scarcely say that I have no such purpose in view. Others, indeed, may deem the subject in any form somewhat too trite. But in the course of a very short allusion to the principal features of this remarkable creation of royal vanity, I will endeavour only to record my own impressions, and to avoid, except where a mere allusion may be necessary, recalling the statements of history. Let it be understood, however, that my remarks are offered apart from architectural details of which I possess no knowledge. There are at present several hotels in Lucknow, although at the period of our visit there happened to be no other house of public accommodation than the 'dak bungalow,' towards which accordingly our gorriwallah drove in dashing style through devious ways and crowds of observant natives. Such a dák house had not hitherto fallen to our lot. This was no paltry hovel of the plains but a stately mansion, consisting of large lofty apartments with gilded walls and ceilings-the quondam abode of a royal lady of Lucknow. The cuisine and attendance also being in conformity with this external superiority, we were here lodged in comparatively regal splendour. It was something to say that there were giants in Patna, but a faithful account of my experiences first demands from me the comparatively insignificant statement that there are sparrows in Lucknow. The multitudinous chorus of chirping which awoke me in the early morning imbued my dreamy senses with the idea that I had been sleeping in the open air. In another moment, however, I beheld the flock, not disporting among green boughs or perched on overhanging eaves, for nothing of the kind was visible from my pillow, but in full possession of the ornate broken roof of our bedchamber, flying from hole to corner, and appearing or vanishing through rents in tarnished gilt vases and faded garlands of roses. Strangely enough, as the sequel will show, no more appropriate symbol of life in Lucknow could have ushered in the day. |