We left Jaipur for Agra on the 29th of December, finding the usual excited crowd at the station. The train passed through a rather dry, plain country, though varied by crops under irrigation. We changed at a junction named Bandakni, the train we were in going on to Delhi. It was a refreshment station. Here a good tiffin was procurable. Going on about 4.30 in the afternoon, we entered a more fertile and interesting country, the crops being more abundant, and the wells also. There were some fine groves of trees, and distant ranges of hills to be seen. Curious mounds and tumbled boulders varied the plains here and there in places. Peacocks were plentiful, and they even occasionally strayed on to the railway metals at the stations. Antelopes were also to be seen, and once an animal resembling a wolf was seen in the jungle. A jungle, by the way, is not necessarily a slice of tropical forest, full of long grass, tangled creepers, and tigers, but may be any bit of uncultivated country.

We reached Agra about 9 P.M. after a comfortable journey. We put up at the Metropole Hotel—a kind of extended bungalow, with a two-storied centre and two long, low wings of rooms under the usual arcaded arrangement, with a garden in the middle. The rooms were spacious and lofty, but bare, cheerless and cold. The traveller of course must not expect any old-fashioned welcome or personal interest in his comfort or welfare in any country at any modern hostelry in these days. He writes or wires for his room, and he may be thankful if it is ready for him when he arrives. He must be content to be merely No. So-and-so, and may not even see the host or manager at all. There was, naturally, more or less of a rush on Agra about this time, as the preparations for the reception of the Amir of Afghanistan were far advanced, and distinguished visitors were beginning to arrive. The English tourist who had not furnished himself with introductions in such a place was apparently regarded as a mere worm by the superior military and official British circles.

Driving to the fort next morning we were stopped by an English sentry, who produced a written card of Regulations forbidding the entrance of carriages, so we got out and walked through the Emperor Akbar’s great Delhi gate (1566), which is on a fine scale, and passed on to the Pearl Mosque, the Moti Musjid, built by Shah Jehan in 1654—the private chapel of the court of the Mogul Emperors—a beautiful white marble building in a fair court. An Arabic inscription records when it was built and why.

We passed on to the great square of the fort which was busily preparing for the reception of the Amir, who was expected to arrive on the 9th of January. They were actually building out an extra portico in solid masonry adding it on to the existing Durbas Hall (Diwan-i-Khas), which was so blocked with workmen and materials it was not possible to see much inside, and our bearer, who was by way of acting as guide when he could, was roughly turned back by an English official. We made the round of the great Akbar’s Fort, which is certainly on a noble scale, and returning to the Delhi gate by ugly and mean British barrack buildings, which have been put up within its massive walls, we could not but be struck with the contrast between the work of one Empire and that of another. Over Akbar’s great gate, however, floated our Union Flag.

Our next expedition was to the renowned Taj Mahal, the beautiful marble tomb erected by Shah Jehan in memory of his favourite wife, and which was to be his own monument also. The way thither lies through the cantonments and the government gardens. We passed through great encampments, then in a state of busy preparation. On the road was being erected a large triumphal arch in the Moslem style, upon which native workmen were engaged painting and decorating. Native police in khaki and red turbans lined the route at intervals, and saluted as we drove past. The Viceroy’s camp was beautifully laid out and arranged with turf, walks, and flowers. We saw a procession of native women carrying palms and plants in pots on their heads, from ox-carts unloading them, for the camp. Camping in India, indeed, seems to be a fine art, and is carried out in every detail with the utmost completeness. In the government gardens the ideas of the English landscape gardener were in evidence. They were laid out with serpentine walks and drives in the modern public parks style, the large shadeless stretches of would-be turf struggling to show a little green under repeated waterings, with groups of young trees here and there. A big statue of Queen Victoria was placed conspicuously on the high ground in the centre of one of these desert-like lawns. A little beyond we came to the magnificent gate of the Taj, a noble structure of red sandstone and white marble, approached by steps. Passing through its deep shadow under the great arch the wonderful tomb in all its pearly whiteness, with its graceful dome and slender minarets, rising sparkling in the full sunlight above a green bower of trees against the deep blue of the sky, and reflected in the still water of the long tank, breaks upon the sight like a fairy vision. The tank with terraced walks, flagged with stone, extends from the steps of the entrance gateway to the front of the Taj itself, its long line only broken by a raised marble terrace with seats about half way. Rows of slender cypresses enforce the long perspective which leads the eye up to the shrine. The Moslems certainly felt the importance of spacing and proportion, and the art of leading the eye and preparing the mind for the appreciation of beautiful art and architecture by careful planning of the setting and surroundings of their great temples and tombs. Space is as important an element in their design as the exquisite handicraft which produced their unrivalled detail. The Taj itself is on a raised platform of stone, and is flanked on each side by two noble mosques of red sandstone splendidly inlaid with white marble. It was the rich decorative effect of such materials no doubt which suggested to the Maharajah of Jaipur the painting of his town red, which I refer to in a previous chapter, but the reality compared with the imitation is as wine to water.

The Taj first impresses one by its beautiful proportion, and the completeness of its ensemble. It is like a fair woman whose general carriage and aspect charms the eye before we are near enough to appreciate the full beauty of her face and form, or to note the exquisite taste of her delicate attire.

As one approaches this wonderful shrine which, although so ornate, possesses a fine breadth in general effect, the beauty and finish of its decorative detail excites a new admiration. There are delicate designs of lilies and tulips and crown imperials cut in marble in low relief, forming the panelling of the lower walls. These are framed in small-scale, formal floral designs, inlaid with precious stones, such as jasper, coral, bloodstone, sardonyx, lapis-lazuli, onyx, turquoise, and other kinds done in a manner associated with Florentine work, and it is said Italian workmen were employed here. Then we have the crowning beauty of the pierced work in the marble screens which enclose the tombs, and break the brilliant light at the apertures under the dome. These are the jewellery and lace of this architectural personality. There is something of the fine lady about her—if one may use the personal pronoun, but one cannot forget the twenty thousand workmen whose twenty-two years’ toil contributed to her splendour; and it is recorded, too, that their work was done under conditions of semi-starvation, and at the price of many lives, over and above the four millions of money at which the cost is usually estimated. Well, it remains their monument as well as that of Shah Jehan and his wife Arjamand Banu: 1648 is the date of the completion of the Taj.

I was somewhat disappointed not to find the eastern garden described by Edwin Arnold, and which was seen here by Mr W.S. Caine—a bowery, romantic garden full of fruit trees—“orange and lemon, pomeloes, pomegranates, palms, flowering shrubs and trees, with marble fish-ponds and fountains, speaking of the East in every whisper of their leaves and plash of their waters.” There is still a charming garden, but an Anglicised one, with open lawns, broken by masses of beautiful and varied but rather consciously and professionally arranged trees and shrubs and palms. The hand and taste of the modern gardener is a little too evident. It looks as if the original somewhat wild and characteristic Eastern garden had been taken in hand by an expert from Kew, and it had been tamed, its wild locks cut off, and the remainder combed and brushed.

There is an English country-seat or even suburban suggestion about it in parts. I cannot but think that it was a pity not to maintain the garden in its Eastern character, considering the monument it encloses. However, it would take even more professional treatment to prevent beautiful trees and flowers from being delightful.

The garden is still a pleasant place to wander in, and interesting views of the white domes and minarets, rising above masses of foliage, can be had everywhere in it. Here, at the end of December, one enjoyed the temperature, and the sunshine, tempered by the shade of trees, of a normal June day in England.

As regards the garden, I was told that when it was in its original state as a fruit garden a certain amount of revenue was realised by the sale of the produce. When Lord Curzon heard of this he considered it not fitting, and I understood that he was responsible for the alteration in the character of the garden, which requires the constant attention of the water-bearer with his goatskin.

Agra possesses a fine mosque in the Jama Musjid, built by Shah Jehan in 1644. It is a building of red sandstone and white marble. The big dome is inlaid in zigzags of white marble and red sandstone alternately, the whole surface being covered in this way with striking effect.

It is an interesting drive through the bazaars and over the bridge of boats across the river Jumna, and through a native village, to the mausoleum of Itmad-ud-Daulat. In this beautiful building, which is approached through a massive arched gateway of red sandstone and across a walled garden, one sees a prototype of the Taj Mahal. In this case there is a central dome and four minarets, only the cupola is lower and of a flatter curve, and the minarets are not detached from the body of the building which is much lower than the Taj. In the design and execution of its decorative detail, however, it surpasses the Taj in inventiveness, and variety and richness, both in pierced and carved work and its pietra dura. The detail of the Taj, beautiful and finely finished as it is, has in comparison, perhaps, rather the look of having been done to order, whereas in buildings of earlier date like this one we seem to see the more spontaneous invention of the craftsman. The restoring hand of Lord Curzon, however, has touched this monument also, and a new marble balustrade around the flat roof has been added under his orders. There are lovely views from the minarets.

We visited the Taj Mahal again by moonlight. It was the 30th of December and the moon was full, but it was chilly driving out after dinner and wraps were necessary. There was a light mist from the river which hung over the garden, and slightly veiled the lower part of the building as we approached it down one of the long paths chequered by the shadows of the trees. The front was in shadow and looked mysterious in the mist, but the dome seemed made of pearl rounded in the full moonlight in splendid relief against the dark deep blue of the night powdered with brilliant stars, while the four minarets were like helmeted sentinels in shining armour, guarding the sacred shrine.

The moonlight was bright enough for me to make a sketch by. I also made two coloured drawings of the Taj by daylight, one of which—“the Taj Mahal from the rose garden” was afterwards purchased by H.M. The Queen, and the other, from the gate, is reproduced here. Agra was full of British and native soldiers, and more were continually arriving. We passed trains of field artillery marching through the government gardens, and bell tents covered the ground like mushrooms. In many places earth banks had been cut in tiers for seats, and strings of small flags fluttered across many of the streets, and there were also seats and stands of timber being erected. Agra could think of nothing but the Amir.

The English and other churches are not admirable examples of modern architecture, and never seem to look at home in India. There was a Roman Catholic Church here after the manner of an eighteenth century one, but any merit it might have had was obscured by its colour. It had been, so to speak, put into a grey uniform with buff facings. The English Church was treated in the same way. This must be military influence. My impression certainly was that civilians did not count for much at Agra. In the bazaars we found we were able to make purchases with rather less accompaniment of drama than at Jaipur. European goods were much in evidence, of the cheap and nasty sort as a rule, ugly socks and scarves and cottons, and tin ware. I saw a crowd of natives clustering round the trumpet mouth of a gramophone—an instrument which seems to have considerable charms for them.

It was chilly enough in the early mornings and in the evenings at Agra, and our ground-floor rooms were none of the warmest, although, of course, the sun was very powerful in the middle of the day. The Hotel proprietors were looking forward to full houses and high prices during the Amir’s visit, and enormous sums were mentioned as probable charges for rooms, but we had no intention of staying through the festivities.

Our last excursion from Agra was to Sikandra—five miles away to the North West—where we drove to see the tomb of Akbar. The road was a dusty one, but through pleasant acacia avenues. We passed through several mud-built villages, and presently saw white minarets rising above a belt of trees in the distance. At one part of the road where the square tower of an English Mission Church was seen among trees we were reminded for a moment of a bit of Norfolk, but only for a moment. Soon we reached the great red-stone gateway which was on a splendid scale, and elaborately inlaid with marble, exceedingly fine in style, parts had been restored, and all the four white marble minarets were said to be new and placed there by Lord Curzon, not I presume without good evidence of the former existence of such minarets, but such renewals cannot possess any historic interest and are in doubtful taste. The gate was adorned with Togra and Arabic inscriptions, which, cut in sunk relief in white marble, formed a frame work enclosing panels of larger pattern in marble inlay. Pilasters of red sandstone on the front were in zigzag courses, alternately white and red, like the work on the dome of the Jama Musjid at Agra.

From the gateway a long and broad flagged way, intersected by tanks, led us up to the tomb, across a wide park full of fine trees, tamarinds and mangoes chiefly. Arrived at the great tomb, the cupolas of which we had seen in front of us as we walked, we first entered a sort of hall or atrium with richly decorated roof and walls in coloured plaster, heightened with gold, and with an Arabic text in gold running round the frieze. There were beautiful designs of trees and vines in panels. Parts had been picked out in new gold and colour, at somebody’s expense, to bring out the pattern, but the new work looked hard and mechanical though on good lines, and the new gold was staring; the effect of this partial restoration being of course patchy. Still, if such restorations are allowable at all, it is better that they should be frank and make no pretence at being really a part of the original work. It would, however, in this case have been far better to have left it alone, as the old gold and colour still remaining on the walls and vault was rich and deep in tone.

From this hall we entered a small corridor, two native attendants going before us with lanterns to guide our steps. This passage led into a vast dark domed chamber, in the midst of which was the plain marble tomb of the great Akbar. It was impressive in its simplicity, without any inscription or ornament, the usual narrow parallelogram with a moulded base. One of the men uttered a deep prolonged note like the exclamation Ah! but sustained and dwelling on the A. This was answered by a profound and long-continued echo or reverberation, dying gradually away, caused I suppose by the height and shape of the dome. One might imagine it was the voice of the dead Emperor. After seeing three more tombs, one of which was richly and delicately carved (a lady’s), we ascended to the terraced roof, and from there to a second arcaded terrace, from which still a third was reached up steps of ever increasing height in the treads, and finally to a top story, emerging upon a beautiful spacious arcaded court of white marble, but with warm tints in it which made it very much the tone of ivory. There were delicate, pierced, marble screens on each side, through which the evening sun sparkled like gold. In the centre of the court on a raised dais was the second tomb of Akbar, according to the usual Mohammedan custom of placing an upper tombstone to indicate the position of the actual tomb in the vault below. This tomb was most elaborately and delicately carved in white marble, with beautifully designed floral patterns and Arabic texts and borders of scroll work, which were like reproductions in marble relief of the designs in the best type of Persian carpets. The aged native custodians told us that the famous koh-i-noor diamond was once here on Akbar’s tomb. It might be interesting to trace its history to its present position.

The foliated cresting of the parapet of this marble court was also delicately carved. Altogether the building was one of the finest things of its type we had yet seen in India. The blend of Hindu construction with Mogul work in the corbelled supports of the minarets was noticeable. These corbels were trebled at the angles, and like most of the building were of red sandstone.

There was a fine view of the country from this highest story of the tomb, and we could even see the white dome of the Taj Mahal five or six miles away. The drive from Agra took about an hour, and the sun had set before we returned.

This being New Year’s day Moonsawmy our bearer smilingly came up with an offering—a plum cake with a pink sugared top and “A Happy New Year” on it, as if it had come out of an English confectioner’s—and this, too, was accompanied by a garland of yellow and white flowers after the native manner—one for each of us. He said this was customary, and with his good wishes he managed to convey a gentle hint that his “jentilmens” usually made him a little present in return. This rather rubbed a little of the sugar off, but, of course, we did not forget him. He was not a bad servant on the whole, though rather too old and cunning a bird in some ways. He had rather extravagant ideas in ordering carriages, which we afterwards discovered were not totally unconnected with certain commissions extracted from the carriage proprietors. No doubt, however, native bearers regard the European tourist as fair game—it is not unheard of in Europe—and they, like other classes after their manner, lose no opportunity of making the most of the chances of their rather uncertain profession.