PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA

CONTENTS. 101

PART I.-THE MEDITERRANEAN AND THE RED SEA.

I. PAG Il

THE STARTING FROM TILBURY. I

II. THE MEDITERRANEAN 6

III. THE STAGE VILLAIN'S TOWN 12

IV. COALING AT PORT SAID 16

V. THE SUEZ CANAL 19

VI. THE RED SEA 23

VII. THE IDLER AT SEA 27

PART II.-INDIA.

I. THE COMING TO INDIA 29

II. AN IMPRESSION OF INDIA. 33

III. THE WHITES AND THE BROWNS

IV. THE BAZAAR 51

PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA

x CONTENTS.

V. PAGE

AGRA AND ITS BOOK OF KINGS 57

VI. THE FORT AT AGRA . 63

VII. THE PALACE IN THE FORT 65

VIII. THE TAJ MAHAL 78

IX. THE TOMB OF A SCHEMER 83

X. THE CITY OF UNTRODDEN STREETS. 85

XI. T HE MAUSOLEUM AT SIKANDRA 88

XII. D ELHI 90

XIII. Two MOSQUES IN DELHI 93

XIV. AN INDIAN EDEN . 96

XV. THE RIDGE AT DELHI . 100

XVI. THE KASHMIR GATE • 109

XVII. THE GARDEN OF THE UNFORGOTTEN lIS

XVIIi. THE PILLARS OF GOLIATH AND DAVID 120

XIX. THE SURPRISING CITY OF j EYPORE . 123

XX. AMBER. 131

PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA

CONTENTS. Xl

XXI. PAGE

UDAIPUR BY THE LAKE 136

XXII. A PALACE GATEWAY.

XXIII. CHITOR AND THE POOL IN THE CLIFF

XXIV. SIMLA • 149

XXV. THE MEN WITH THE PLANKS • ISS

XXVI. THE CITY OF TRAMPLED FLOWERS.

XXVII. THE GHATS AT BENARES •

XXVIII. CAWNPORE •

XXIX. THE RESIDENCY AT LUCKNOW • 180

XXX. ON THE WAY TO BURMAH

PART III.-BURMAH AND CEYLON. I.

RANGOON AND THE BURMAN 193

II. THE LADIES OF CREATION

III. THE GOLDEN PAGODA 201

IV. THE FOREST OF YOUTH 208

V. THE PALACE OF THE KING OF KINGS • 211

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xii CONTENTS.

VI. PAGE

A BURMESE PUBLIC LIBRARY • 218

VII. T HE IRRAWADDY • 222

VIII. T HE CAPITAL CITY OF CEYLON • 225

IX. THE CINGALESE AND THEIR DEALINGS WITH DEVILS 230

X. THE WILD GARDEN .

XI. . KANDY AND THE TEMPLE OF FRANGIPANNI BLOSSOMS. 238

XII. PENANG AND SINGAPORE 243

XIII. A PRIMITIVE VENICE. 249

XIV. T H E MANGROVE SWAMP 250

PART IV.-CH INA. I.

T H E ISLAND OF THE MIST

II. A THEATRE AND A HOSPITAL.

III. T HE PEARL RIVER 261

IV. A FLOATING SUBURB.

V. THE NIGHTMARE CITY OF CANTON.

VI. W HITE CLOUD HILL •

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CONTENTS.

VII. THE HEALING OF THE SICK

VIII. THE UPHOLDING OF THE LAW.

IX. THE MAN OF THE WORLD

X. SHANGHAI

PART v.-JAPAN.· I.

THE FIRST SIGHT OF JAPAN

II. THE INLAND SEA AND CERTAIN TOWNS.

III. THE CAPITAL OF OLD j AP AN •

IV. THE BUYING OF AN INCENSE-BURNER

V. THE j AP ANESE GARDEN

VI.

xiii

293

. 299

301

A RELIGION OF CHERRY-BLOSSOM AND OLD MEMORIES 326

VII. THE GENTLE LIFE 333

VIII. THE JAPANESE THEATRE 338

IX. TOKYO THE REFORMED 343

X. THE ST. PETER'S OF JAPAN 349

XI. THREE TEMPLES IN KYOTO 352

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xiv CONTENTS.

XII. PAGE

A J AP ANESE DINNER 360

XIII. THE PALACE . 364

XIV. Two INTERVIEWS . 369

XV. THE VILLAGE 375

XVI. N ARA 379

XVII. N IKKO 383

XVIII. T HE CHERRY FESTIVAL 388

XIX. THF; P EOPLE OF THE COUNTRY. 393

XX. S IGNS OF THE TIMES 400

PART Vl.-AMERICA. I.

T HE S ANDWICH ISLANDS 40 5

II . T HE YOSEMITE V ALLEY 40 9

III . T HE SCENE OF THE END OF THE WORLD 41 5

INDEX 421

PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE

LANTERN.

)pa rt i.

THE MEDITERRANEAN AND THE RED SEA.

I.

THE STARTING FROM TILBURY.

TILBURY on the Thames is quite a fitting place from which to take ship for a journey to the Radiant East, especially when the time is November and when the river is shut in by a freezing fog. The spot is benumbing and without sentiment, but it has some interest by contrast. It is the grey curtain hanging before the brilliant scenes of the play.

The voyager, leaving his native island, who would follow en­tailed impressions, should start from a sunny cove in Devonshire and put off in a boat. He should hear the keel of the galley slide down the pebbled beach to the tread of heavy boots, and should take the splashing sea suddenly. Ruddy men should row him and his luggage to the ship, while those who wave handkerchiefs on the shore should have behind them a green coomb full of com­fortable shadows, and above them gorse-covered downs. There · should be no sounds but the rumble and swish of the oars, the babbling of the water against the boat's bow, and the cry of the disturbed seagull.

This, however, is not, in modern view, the embarquement de luxe. Those" who go down to the sea in ships" go down in a

B

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2 THE MEDITERRANEAN.

too-animated train filled with restless and disordered folk and their disorderly belongings. Labels, parcels, fragments of refreshments. messages of farewell, unopened letters, and a variable ruin of flowers hang about these people. From the strange assortment of things fhey clutch some of them might be escaping from a modern Pompeii. They have for the most part adopted that iII-formulated clothing which an undecided public considers to be "suited for the sea "-steamer hats, steamer cloaks, steamer boots. There are women made repulsive by the headgear of men and sober elders garbed like Captain Kettle. There is such a medley of wardrobes that the most dull of men may appear as compounded of a ship's steward and a deer-stalker, while his wife may have the head of a golf caddie on the body of a cook.

They talk or laugh or weep in gusts. They exhibit unaccount­able impulses and alarms. A man 'springs up in the carriage with set lips and glaring eyes and pats himself all over in search of a wallet he has already locked in a trunk. A woman, with a glance of terror, plunges into a bag by her side, and claws up its con­tents as a terrier digs up earth, in a quest as futile as that of the Philosopher's Stone.

As the train nears the docks it puffs gingerly across many lines of rail, dodging rows of sheds, ramparts of boxes, or barricades of timber. It hesitates many times, going, as it were, step by step and feeling its way. When the damp quay side is reached, the people drop from the train with such hurry :that it might be about to sink into the :tide. There is surely not a moment to be lost! They stumble and reel along the dock, dragging bags and rugs, children and trunks, over ropes and chains, round Gargantuan posts, and under appalling cranes. Their hurry and anxiety are such that the train might have come from Sodom or Gomorrah.

When the ship is gained they stilI find no peace. They skurry over the deck, up and down the staircases, and along the corridors, like ants in a disturbed ant-heap, and still drag­ging things. It would appear that fhere is scarcely a person who has not lost something-a child, or a bundle, or the site of a cabin. The ship is to them a maze with many ends, where all ends are alike. They perceive folk going down a stair,

PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA

TILBURY. 3

so they press after them. They see food laid out in a saloon, so they hasten to eat it-but absently, with their loins girded and a sense that at any moment they may be compelled to jump up to commence again the blind tramp of the ship.

Whistles and bells cause shocks which, on every recurrence, gal­vanise the lethargic into movement. The great underlying passion throughout the vessel is a primary one-to make for the utmost comfort and to miss nothing that the gods (or the shipping com­pany) may provide. As an arena for the display of the resources of selfishness a departing ship has great advantage.

At last there come three ghostly blasts from a whistle. The moment is here when the" friends" are to leave the ship, and the deck becomes dotted with groups of individuals simultaneously bid­ding one another farewell. It would seem as if at once they had become emotional by signal. A great spasm of feeling has seized the little companies on deck, and if a ship could feel, its beam') would be thrilled by all the misery and forlornness which lie in the hollow of ,two clasped hands.

The" friends" leave the ship like a funeral procession, line up on the quay-a phalanx of blank wretchedness, spurious hilarity, and lack of invention in the matter of facial expression and of utterance. It is obvious that many are at their wits' end to fill the great gaps of silence by appropriate speech. They are, however, promptly driven, like offending sheep, into the waiting train by porters who regard displays of emotion as means merely of making trains late, and who invade the silence of grief by the hearty clanging of bells.

The" friends" at last are off, but not the ship. In due course, however, with infinite slowness and apparent reluctance, the great vessel is coaxed out of the dock into the Thames as one would lead some large suspicious beast into a pool.

The Tilbury of a November day opens into view. This spot then is the starting point, the Cape Farewell, the white headland of home which, according to all traditions, should be gazed a,t until it fades from the sight. Owing to the mist Tilbury has an aptitude for fading, but no other suitable quality. As a land­scape it is a fitting background for any conception of human dreari-

PERPUSTAKAAN NEGARA MALAYSIA