It was refreshing to leave modern prosperous Jeypore and spend a day at Amber, amidst all " the venerable pageantry of time." It was a soft, cool morning in February when we drove from the Residency to the old capital. The pave ment was early alive with men performing their ablutions, who filled the atmosphere with their gurgles as they cleaned their teeth with a piece of stick, as their forefathers had done some centuries before gas was introduced into Jeypore. Emerging from the north-east gate, we found ourselves on the white sandy road running through luxurious gardens and garden houses, the trees glittering with their broad leaves in the sun ; the parrots all awake, chirping, screaming, flashing from branch to branch, peacocks, blue and white, sunning their tails on the walls. Then we come to a large lake covered with waterfowl, and alligators basking in the sun on the bank. Horrid, evil-looking monsters, with the hungry impudent stare of the Yogis (mendicants) who sit around the tombs and ruined houses. The alligators are also protected by the pious, and they increase and multiply because no one is allowed under pain of severe punishment to hurt or disturb them. In Jeypore, with its gas and its English college, zoolatry still prevails, and the alligator is one of the monsters wofshipped. It is sacred to Kamadcva, Love. On the bank of the lake the road passes through an ancient gateway in an embattled wall, which connects the two hills that enclose the valley of Amber. Here we find the elephants sent by the Maharaja to complete our journey, for the road now becomes too steep for carriages. The sight of the huge monster kneeling at the word of his driver (Mahaut) has long ceased to be novel, but will never cease to delight and surprise. When loaded he rose, and rolled slowly up the steep hill, like some ungainly, fat dame. On reaching the summit we passed through another gateway, and below us lay a deep glen, where by the margin of a small lake, a blur of hot colour, sleeps the ancient capital of Amber, a city of ancient temples and ruined palaces, a city of the dead. The crests of the hills on either side are glorified with castles built of pink sandstone, the relics of old Rajpoot story. Above the lake on its western side rises the old fortified palaces, whose white and yellow facade is broken by balconies and verandahs. The elephant rolled through a winding street of ruined houses and miserable huts till a sloped paved ascent leading to the palace was reached. Guarded on either side by embattled ramparts, and having at every turn a massive red sandstone gateway, it is a fitting entrance to the home of a Rajpoot chief.
Having got through the last handsome gateway, we found ourselves in a large quadrangle surrounded by great blocks of buildings formerly used as barracks and stables. Here we alighted. To be accurate, we had alighted two miles before, for we had discovered that the back of an elephant is, like the sea, not our natural home. Mounting a long flight of steps and passing through another gateway ornamented with brilliant frescoes, we reached a courtyard, the Court of Honour, paved with red and white sandstone. At one end rises the Diwan-i-Khas, a noble hall of audience. "A double row of columns, supporting a massive entablature, forms three sides of the hall, which is roofed in by a vaulted and very lofty ceiling of great solidity ; the fourth side, which is walled up, facing the lake. The building is therefore in reality silty a on a very large scale, and is perfectly open to the air. The hall is paved with marble, inlaid with colours, and a platform of white marble erected at one ex tremity, serves as a throne. The first row of columns are of red sandstone, with capitals of great beauty, on which elephants are sculptured, supporting with their trunks the sloping stone roof which descends from the cornice. The shafts of these columns are covered with a layer of smooth white stucco, which hides the magnificent sculpture. It appears that no sooner had Mirza completed the Diwan-i Khas than it came to the ears of the Emperor Jehanghir, that his vassal had surpassed him in magnificence, and that this last great work quite eclipsed all the marvels of the Imperial city ; the columns of red sandstone having been particularly noticed as sculptured with exquisite taste and elaborate detail. In a fit of jealousy the Emperor com manded that this masterpiece should be thrown down, and sent commissioners to Amber charged with the execution of this order ; whereupon the Mirza, in order to save the structure, had the columns plastered over with stucco, so that the messengers from Agra should have to acknowledge to the Emperor that the magnificence, which had been so much talked of, was after all pure invention. Since then his apathetic successors have neglected to bring to light this splendid work ; and it is only by knocking off some of the plaster that one can get a glimpse of the sculptures, which are perfect as on the day they were carved." At the other end of the courtyard is the abode of the King, with its magnifi cent gateway, covered with mosaics and delicate paintings. The marble frameworks of the windows are carved out of single slabs, and vie with those of Ahmedabad in delicacy and beauty. Passing through the Royal portal, we entered a court surrounded by palaces in the centre of which is a fragrant garden. On one side of the garden there is the Jey Mandir, the marble pavilion built by the great Jey Sing. The interior is divided into three great saloons, which are inlaid from the ceiling to the floor with mosaics in various colours and pieces of looking-glass, evidence of the taste of the eighteenth century. It is a creature of Oriental gor geousness marred by a touch of western influence. Above the Hall of Victory is a Jas Mandir, or Alcove of Delight, a marble kiosk with three fine apartments ornamented in the same style as, but in better taste than those on the ground floor. On one side, overlooking the precipice, are large windows with delicate marble trellis-work, through which the queens had broken glimpses of wild and magnificent nature ; on the other side is a marble terrace overlooking an Elysian garden of the citron, orange, and pomegranate.
From a balcony may be enjoyed one of the most striking prospects that can be conceived, the rugged green valley, the silver lake reflecting the castles and ruined palaces, the wild waste of sand, and the red hills stretching away to the north. The amber tints of the sky, the dark brown of the ruins, the pale grey shadows of the hills, make the whole effect as unreal as " the light that never shone on sea or land." On the other side of the Jey Mandir is the Sukh Nawas, or Hall of Pleasure, famous for its painting of a grove, and a channel for a rivulet to run through the apart ments. It was a cool retreat for an Oriental monarch, but it lacks the true glory and loveliness of Eastern art. The simplicity and princely air of the Zenana is more in keeping with the proud Rajpoot and his queens, through whose veins love, passion, courage, and the stern justice of revenge throbbed and burnt. The harem was originally a sanctuary ; it was prohibited to strangers, not because women were con sidered unworthy of confidence, but on account of the sacredness with which custom and manners invested them. European writers are apt to judge the harem by the stan dard of the Moghul Emperor's seraglio. Making the worst of this, however, yet Aurangzeb was better than his con temporary Louis XIV. If we judge from the Rajpoot bards, women could not have been held in slight esteem. The princess of Canouj, who was carried off by the Chohan Emperor of Delhi, is the Helen of Rajpootana. The Rajpoot bard, like Homer, separates her from her faults, and a noble woman remains. When the Muslim invades the land, she breaks the bonds of pleasure and passion, and tells her lover, " Victory and fame to my lord ! Oh Sun of the Chohans ! in glory, or in pleasure, who has tasted so deeply as you ? To die is the destiny not only of man, but of the gods : all desire to throw off the old garment ; but to die well is to live for ever. Think not of self, but of immortality ; let your sword divide your foe, and I will be your ardhanga (half-body) hereafter." When the Rajpoot's hosts were ranged to ad vance against the Islamite, Sunjogta armed her husband. " In vain she sought the rings of his corslet ; her eyes were fixed on the face of the Chohan, as those of the famished wretch who finds a piece of gold. The sound of the drum reached the ear of the Chohan ; it was as that of a death-knoll on that of Sunjogta : and as he left her to head Delhi's heroes she vowed that henceforward water only should sustain her ! I shall see him again in the region of Surya, but never more in Yoginipoor (Delhi).' Her prediction was fulfilled ; her lord was routed, made captive, and slain ; and, faithful to her vow, she mounted the funeral pyre." By this act of faith the Sati not only made atonement for the sins of her husband and secured the remission of her own, but had the joyful assurance of reunion to the object whose beatitude she procured. A Princess of Haravati, one of the queens of the illustrious Jey Sing, is the Rajpoot conception of true female modesty. Her manners and garb, in accord with the simplicity of her provincial capital, subjected her to the badinage of the more refined court of Amber, whose ladies had added the Imperial costume to their own native dress. " One day, being alone with the prince, he began playfully to contrast the sweeping jupe of Kotah with the more scanty robe of the belles of his own capital ; and, taking up a pair of scissors, said he would reduce it to an equality with the latter. Offended at such levity, she seized his sword, and assuming a threatening attitude said, ' that in the house to which she had the honour to belong they were not habit uated to jests of this nature ; that mutual respect was the guardian not only of happiness, but of virtue ' ; and she assured him that if he ever again so insulted her, he would find that the daughter of Kotah could use a sword more effectively than the prince of Amber the scissors." The Oueen of Ganore is as grand as Lucretia. After having defended five fortresses against the foe, she retreated to her last stronghold on the Nerbudda River. She had scarcely left the boat when the assailants arrived in pursuit. The garrison were few in number, and the fortress was soon in possession of the enemy. The fame of the radiant beauty of the Queen of Ganore had reached the Muslim conqueror, and he begged her to reign over the fortress and himself. Denial was use less. The Khan awaited her reply in the hall below. " She sent a message of assent, with a complimentary reflection on his gallant conduct and determination of pursuit, adding that he merited her hand for his bravery, and might prepare for the nuptials, which should be celebrated on the terrace of the palace. She demanded two hours for unmolested pre paration, that she might appear in appropriate attire, and with the distinction her own and his rank demanded." The two hours sped away. The Khan was summoned to the terrace.
" Robed in the marriage garb presented to him by the Queen, with a necklace and aigrette of superb jewels from the coffers of Ganore, he hastened to obey the mandate, and found that fame had not done justice to her charms. He was desired to be seated, and in conversation full of rapture on his side, hours were as minutes while he gazed on the beauty of the Queen. But presently his countenance fell— he complained of heat ; punkas and water were brought, but they availed him not, and he began to tear the bridal garments from his frame, when the Queen thus addressed him : ' Know, Khan, that your last hour is come ; our wedding and our death shall be sealed together. The vest ments which cover you are poisoned ; you had left me no other expedient to escape pollution.' While all were horror struck by this declaration, she sprung from the battlements into the flood beneath. The Khan died in extreme torture, and was buried on the road to Bhopal." An ancient pagan scene, yet not without a charm even to the modern Christian world. And now, as the sun threw a violet haze over the mountains, we descended the hill, and cast a last look on the massive walls, the fairy kiosks, the slender balconies of the Royal Fortress, a fit home for knights of old.