by John Buchan
In this romantic setting the Viceroy read the words of the King-Emperor, repeating and enlarging the charter of 1858. The time had come when the principle of representative institutions must be prudently extended, and the measures to ensure this would soon be made known. “For the military guardianship of my Indian Dominion I recognize the valour and fidelity of my Indian troops, and at the New Year I have ordered that opportunity should be taken to show in substantial form this my high appreciation of their martial instincts, their splendid discipline, and their faithful readiness of service.”
In December the reform scheme, the details of which will be discussed in the next chapter, was made public both in England and India. There was little criticism, and much approval in both countries. The “native member,” the supposed bone of contention, was universally accepted. Only the scheme for “electoral colleges,” which had been inserted at home, was disquieting to the Mohammedans. “I hope,” Minto had written to Lord Morley on 30th November, “I am not overweening in my feeling that we are about to share in the triumph of a great work. There may be no visible triumph at first, and there will be any amount of criticism, but I believe that thinking India will realize that much has been gained. Notwithstanding all my warnings as to possible further trouble, perhaps I am more sanguine than you are. Instinct seems to tell me that we are nearing the turn of the tide.” So the year 1908, which had been dark enough at times, ended with a brighter horizon. A vicious outbreak of anarchist crime had been promptly checked, miscreants had been laid by the heels, and Tilak, the cleverest agitator in India, had been transported for six years. A great scheme of reform had been happily passed into law. The anxiety about Afghanistan’s attitude towards the Convention with Russia had been protracted till September, to Lord Morley’s intense annoyance, but it was allayed during that month by the receipt of a friendly letter from the Amir, and wholly dispelled in October when M. Isvolsky visited England. In spite of unceasing work Minto had kept his health, and his private life had been happy as ever. His youngest daughter had become engaged to Lord Lansdowne’s second son, Lord Charles Fitzmaurice, and in November Melgund and Lady Eileen arrived from England. Even in the most harassing times Minto’s correspondence never fails in a sense of the humour of life. He describes for the benefit of Lord Morley his visit to Scindia, when the Maharani sang Scots songs to him from behind the purdah, and he joined in the choruses. “It was really all too curious — the more so when I think that less than a hundred years ago my grandfather, General Sir Thomas Hislop, finally defeated the Mahratta army under Holkar at the battle of Medhipore, not so very far from here, and that here was I, his grandson, singing songs with Scindia’s wife!” Nor was the Secretary of State slow to reply in kind. He regrets that he did not remain in the House of Commons to deal as “‘chief goose-herd’” with what he described as “the honest Liberal Fools and the baser sort of Unionist ditto.” “An under-secretary cannot put the fear of God into their silly hearts, as the Secretary of State can at least try to do. However, I am up aloft, and there I am happy to stop; at the same time I have told Asquith that there is to be no playing with India to please the geese.” In a delightful letter on 10th December he complains that he has a black dog on his back, which “makes me think of the Psalmist at his worst, or Job, Chapter III.,” and which might be explained by an influenza cold. “To cook up a powerful and impressive oration, one half for coercion and t’other half against it, in the midst of cough, quinine, and blankets, is no joke, I can assure you. Ah, well, as I think I’m always saying to you: —
“‘Be the day short or be the day long, At length it ringeth to Evensong.’
“A jingle that comforts me, I hardly know why, for Time is bringing me into pretty close sight and sound of the last Evensong of all. Time recalls the Times newspaper—” and then follows press gossip, which never failed to amuse him.
But loyal and helpful as he was in all great matters, and warm as were the feelings of the two men for each other, the Secretary of State did much to increase the Viceroy’s load. The India Office was swathed in red tape and slow in movement, and it was excessively curious about trivialities — a free passage to a widow or a pension to some minor official. In September Minto protested strongly against this habit; already a member of the Hobhouse commission had told Lord Morley that the first object for decentralization was the India Office. But the Secretary of State himself was not free from the same fault, and he harassed the Viceroy with constant telegrams about matters with which he had no real concern, forgetting the words of Mill, at whose lamp he said he had kindled his “modest rushlight”—”The executive Government of India must be seated in India itself.” Lord Morley had not the gift of quickly acquiring information on unfamiliar topics; he remained oddly ignorant of the details of Indian conditions, and to the end made suggestions which were occasionally so beside the mark as to be comic. That would have been a small matter if he had not wished to direct actively parts of the administrative machine himself, a task for which he had neither the right kind of experience nor the right kind of talent. Constantly he wanted to use his fine brain as ineptly as the man who sets a race-horse to the plough. This habit doubled the Viceroy’s work, and it is impossible to read the telegraphic correspondence between Simla and Whitehall without regarding much of it as a sheer waste of time and energy. There was often material for a quarrel. Lord Morley was jealous of the correspondence of Minto or any high Indian official except with himself, and when Minto hinted at the extension of the same principle to Lord Morley’s correspondence with Lord Kitchener he was seriously hurt. When an Indian official went to England he was shepherded by the Secretary of State from any contact with Foreign Office or War Office. Few Ministers of the Crown have been so unyieldingly despotic in the lesser matters of conduct. His sense of personal dignity, too, was easily offended; his vanity, otherwise an innocent and attractive thing, could suddenly become peevish; a casual careless phrase in the letter of an overworked man became the occasion for a homily. The truth seems to have been that in 1908 he was beginning to feel his seventy years, and that the outrages in India and the inevitable measures that followed so offended his sense of decency and his lifelong traditions, that they preyed upon his mind and unsettled his temper. His letters were invariably courteous, his telegrams, reflecting his momentary moods, were often petulant and unjust. Minto set himself the difficult task of refusing to be ruffled and replying always considerately and calmly, and to his lasting honour he succeeded.
But it wore him down. He was not the man to complain in public or private; but in an occasional letter to his wife or to an old friend like Sir Arthur Bigge there is a hint that he found it hard to soothe the sensitiveness and allay the suspicions of a Secretary of State who did not readily understand the etiquette of a service, and was apt to accept, as veracious, preposterous gossip from private letters, and demand of an overworked Viceroy immediate inquiry and explanation. It was his business to allow for Lord Morley’s temperament as part of the problem he had to meet, and in reading the correspondence it is pleasant to note how Minto’s knowledge of human nature and his real affection for the Secretary of State taught him the best way of handling his colleague. He overstates a point that Lord Morley may have the satisfaction of whittling it down; he insinuates in successive letters a policy till presently it returns from Whitehall as Lord Morley’s own proposal; he patiently crumbles a prejudice against some official till Lord Morley becomes the advocate of his merits.
Such a result would never have been obtained but for the solid foundation of liking and respect between the two men. The compensations were great, for there would suddenly come from Lord Morley such an outflow of kindliness that a less sensitive heart than Minto’s would have been touched. The Viceroy hints that the Secretary of State takes perhaps too detailed an interest in the affairs of India, and the latter replies that he read the words with a friendly smile. “My only excuse is that I have to aid you in your battle.” There is a slight differen
ce of opinion, and Lord Morley writes: “We are placed in positions where the points of view of Whitehall and Simla are necessarily different, but what I can say . . . is that you and I have entire confidence in one another’s aims and sense of public duty.” On October 30, 1908, he writes again: “We have now had all but three years of it, and considering the difference in our experience of life and the world, and the difference in the political schools to which we belong (or think we belong), and the intrinsic delicacy of our official relations, our avoidance of reefs and snags has been rather creditable all round. When 11th December comes — the anniversary of my taking the seals — I feel as if I could compose a very fine Te Deum duet, in which you shall take one part if you will, and I the other.” And the last day of December brought the Viceroy this New Year message: “Believe that I am very heartily your well-wisher for 1909, and as many more years as you care to have. At least you leave off at the end of 1908 in a position that must gratify all your friends, including Morley of B.” Exasperation could not endure for long with a nature so essentially warm and gracious, and — in its considered moods — so magnanimous. In talking with Lady Minto on her visit to England Lord Morley paid the finest tribute which perhaps Secretary of State ever paid to Viceroy. “I am swimming,” he said, “in a popular tide through victories which are not my own.”
CHAPTER 11. VICEROY OF INDIA, 1909-10
JANUARY was filled with preparations for Lady Violet’s marriage to Lord Charles Fitzmaurice, which was celebrated in Calcutta Cathedral on the 20th. “Scindia, Sir Pertab Singh, and Cooch Behar,” Minto wrote to Lord Morley, “were all in the church — the ecclesiastics not being the least shocked by their presence.” Wedding gifts were offered from every quarter, and though their acceptance was forbidden by the etiquette of the Viceroy’s office, the feeling which prompted their offer was gratefully recognized. One such present, which was purchased by Lady Minto, was a posteen offered by an Afghan trader with the following letter: “As Vicereine of India, and we humble savages of the wilds of Afghanistan having heard that your honoured daughter, Lady Violet Elliot, will to-morrow become, by the grace of the Great Allah, Lady Fitzmaurice, the husband which to-morrow will be the second son of that great noble and benefactor of our land, the Marquis of Lansdowne. On such news reaching us, we thought we could do no better than pay homage to thee, good Ladyship, and to the great Viceroy, Lord Minto, and to thy gracious daughter, Lady Violet, by coming and offering, as our poor means will allow, something that will prove our loyalty to thy Great Family and to the invincible British Raj.” Lord Kitchener proposed the health of the bride, and the cake was cut with his sword. “Lady Violet,” he said, “has won more hearts than that of Lord Charles, and I feel sure there are none present who do not deeply and sincerely regret her departure from amongst us. For that we hold Lord Charles responsible, but considering his temptation, I think we must forgive him.”
The year 1909 had for its chief work the final perfecting and establishing of the new reforms. The scheme received in India an almost unanimous welcome, and Mr. Gokhale in the Budget debate in March declared that the Viceroy and Lord Morley between them had saved India from drifting “towards what cannot be described by any other name than chaos.” In the early months of the year the Secretary of State was engaged in piloting the necessary bill through Parliament, a task which he performed with remarkable skill and with a certain humorous enjoyment.
“Balfour spoke in his usual pleasant and effective way for a short half-hour, mainly occupied with an interesting analysis of the conditions that are required to make representative government a success, ending in the conclusion that India satisfies none of these conditions. . . . He vouched me as undoubtedly agreeing with him as to Indian unfitness for representative institutions; and he was quite right. With the bill and the scheme he hardly dealt at all, and his criticism was purely superficial. It reminded me of what Gibbon said about Voltaire ‘casting a keen and lively glance over the surface of history.’ On the whole, sitting perched up over the clock in the Peers’ Gallery, I felt as if I were listening to a band of disembodied ghosts — so far off did they all seem from the hard realities and perplexities with which we have been grappling all these long months. Though it would never do for me to say so, I must secretly admit that the thing compared very poorly with the strength and knowledge of the debates on the bill in the House of Lords. I found also, when the dinner hour arrived, that I had already, in less than a twelvemonth, acquired one inexorable propensity of every selfrespecting peer; I adjourned; and after a modest meal at the Club, instead of returning to hear more speeches, I went home to bed, where I did not dream of Mackarness, Cotton, and other excellent men. Some day it will be your turn to listen to an Indian debate from the same perch; for I dare not suppose that we have finally settled the business. I will not ask you to send me an account down in the Elysian Fields, where I shall then be wandering at my ease.”
The inevitable criticism of the bill in the British Parliament and press had its repercussion in India, and the doubts were chiefly about the native member of the Viceroy’s Council. It had been decided to offer the appointment as legal member to Mr. Sinha, the Bengal Advocate-General, who, greatly to his credit, was willing to sacrifice his very large private income at the Calcutta Bar. King Edward was seriously concerned at the whole proposal, and in a talk to Lord Morley, while admitting that there was no alternative against a unanimous Cabinet, remonstrated vigorously about the whole proceeding. Minto wrote to the King on 4th March in the hope of removing certain misconceptions: —
“The Viceroy was inclined when he first came to India to argue with certain of his colleagues on his Executive Council that an Indian member should be added to their number and a seat provided for him by statute. The Viceroy has, however, since come to the conclusion that an Indian member, occupying a seat created by statute, would be an admission of the necessity for racial representation, which would create rival claims for such seat amongst the many nationalities, religions, and castes of India. Moreover, a seat held on racial qualifications would, it appeared to the Viceroy, indicate a disregard for the special qualities which should entitle an individual to hold such a seat, viz., professional ability, administrative experience, and social standing. . . . From the Viceroy’s point of view, therefore, the point involved is the question whether, if an Indian gentleman is possessed of the above qualifications, he should be debarred because of his race from holding an appointment for which he may be exceptionally suited. The Viceroy thinks he can no longer in justice be so debarred, and that racial disability should be removed.”
The step required no statutory authority, and on 24th March the press contained the news of Mr. Sinha’s appointment. At the accomplished fact criticism died away. “The Times” Lord Morley wrote, “shakes its head a little . . . they shed tears over the fact that Sinha has not some score of the rarest political virtues in any world — courage, patience, tact, foresight, penetration, breadth of view, habit of authority, and Heaven knows what else — just as if all those noble qualities were inherent in any third-rate lawyer that I could have fished out of Lincoln’s Inn, or even as if they are to be found in all the members of the Executive Council as it stands to-day!”
The new member did his work most competently, though he often sighed for his unofficial days, and at various times alarmed the Viceroy by showing a strong inclination to return to them. The notion that his appointment would give offence to the ruling chiefs was dramatically disposed of when in September Scindia came to Simla, and of his own accord made it his first business to call on Mr. Sinha. “Times have changed,” Minto wrote. “How long will it take ‘Indicus olim’ to recognize the fact?” As to Mr. Sinha’s attitude to British rule, it is sufficient to record a saying of his in conversation with Lady Minto: “If the English left India in a body, we should have to telegraph to Aden and get them to return as fast as they could, for in a couple of days India would be in chaos.”
The Reform bill was passed
into law on 25th May, and, since much had been left to be effected by regulations, the Government of India had to frame these and send them home early in July. Lord Morley appointed a committee to consider them (“I can at least promise you that it shall not be illuminated by the shining presence of Lord Macdonnell”), and the Viceroy in Council brought the Act into operation as from 15th November. It is unnecessary here to give more than a general sketch of the main provisions. The total strength of the various legislative councils was raised from 124 to 331, and the number of elected members from 39 to 135, a majority of non-official members being introduced in every legislative council except that of the Viceroy. Power was given to members to move resolutions on matters of general public interest, to discuss the annual budgets more freely, and to put supplementary questions. We have already seen the appointment of an Indian member to the Viceroy’s Executive Council; the members of the Executive Councils of Madras and Bombay were increased, and power was given to appoint an Indian member of each, while it was also made possible for the Viceroy, with the assent of the Secretary of State, to create an executive council in any other province.
The method of election of non-official members to the various legislative councils was complex, since it was desired to ensure an adequate representation of the professional classes, the landholders, the Mohammedan population, and the European and Indian commercial communities. In a country such as India a simple plebiscitary system was obviously out of the question. These interests could be represented only by means of separate electorates or by nomination. The main difficulty concerned the Mohammedans, as to whom a vigorous controversy raged all summer both in India and in Britain. The Government of India’s plan, following upon Minto’s pledge to the Moslem deputation on October 1, 1906, was to give the Mohammedans separate electorates, supplemented to the full extent of their legitimate claims by further representation through mixed electorates, or by nomination where they failed to obtain a fair share of the elective seats. Minto desired to prevent the followers of Islam from becoming a rigid enclave, divorced from the rest of Indian life. But unfortunately during the discussion of the bill in Parliament the Secretary of State suggested as the best solution mixed electoral colleges based on proportional representation. This proposal, which seemed to entrust Mohammedan interests wholly to mixed electorates, and to abandon the principle of communal representation, was stoutly opposed by Indian Moslems, and by Mr. Ameer Ali and the Aga Khan in London. The Mohammedan leaders put their claims too high, but eventually they were induced to agree to what was virtually the Viceroy’s scheme, receiving a minimum of six members in the Viceroy’s Legislative Council — five elected by purely Mohammedan electorates, one nominated, and possible additions from the mixed electorates. There were many deputations received and interviews granted in Whitehall and Simla, and Lord Morley seems, in spite of his tenderness for Islam, to have grown very weary of Islam’s spokesmen. It was delicate ground, for, as he wrote, “We have to take care that in picking up the Mussulman we don’t drop our Hindu parcels.” “I have agreed,” he told Minto, “to receive the sons of the Crescent next week. I wish the Prophet himself was coming! There are not many historical figures whom I should be better pleased to summon up from Paradise, or wherever he now abides.”
