Delhi Durbar. Dec 31. Dearest Mother. Where shall I begin in the tale of our wonderful doings? there is so much to tell you that I have got up at 7 AM in order to find one spare hour in the day to write to you. I left you at Agra, didn't I? yes, my letter was posted at 6 AM on a bitter cold dark morning when we were just setting off to drive to Fattehpor Sikri [Fatehpur Sikri] - 23 miles it is from Agra and we did it in 3 hours with a change of horses in the middle, which was not bad. A cotton gown, a sun helmet and a fur coat was my simple costume, the only one, I find, which meets the variety of the Indian climate. We wrapped ourselves up in rugs and had a most amusing drive along Akbar's palace road; the country all cultivated and full of villages where the people were just getting up, driving out their bullocks and setting them to work at the wells to fill the irrigation sluices. As you look across an Indian field you see it dotted over with steep little hills ending in a miniature precipice; these are the noris[?]. On top is the well and all day long the pair of bullocks toil up and down the incline drawing up the skin of a former nori bullock full of water. No one can be dull on an Indian road because of the birds and beasts. They are so tame that they scarcely get out of the way of your carriage. There is a delightful sort of starling called a Maina, with white barred wings, the fat contented bourgeois of the bird hierarchy; the flocks of green parrots are the gay smart people, the vultures sitting rather huddled up in the early morning cold are the grave politicians and the crane meditavely spearing for anything he can get in the village pond is the Mr Lecky. As for the grey crow, he is the ubiquitious vaut rien without which the social system would not be complete. Fattehpor Sikri is surrounded by a great wall. We drove under the empty battlements and up a long road with ruined khans on either side and through a charming archway on top of which the musicians used to play when Akbar came and went. The state record office is converted into a Dak Bungalow where they gave us a most excellent breakfast and where we stood in the sun on a bracketed Hindu balcony and got warm at last. Outside we found a solemn Mohammadan waiting for us who said "I am guide - my name Chisti. I am very holy man." With which he marched us off to the great mosque and there proved his claim to sanctity by showing us the white marble tomb - a dream of {lattice} lace work in stone - of his ancestor Suleim Chisti who was the Philippe of Akbar's court. Except this tomb, all the buildings of Fattehpore Sikri are of red sandstone. One of the most magnificent gates in the world leads into the mosque, colossal, standing on top of a long flight of steps coming up from the town, inlaid with bold designs in white marble topped by a long scroll of inscription, the famous verse from the Koran: Jesus said "This world is a bridge, make no abiding -" it is almost too significant a motto for the deserted palaces of the capital of a dead empire. We saw the houses of prime ministers and counsellors, the exquisite palaces of Akbar's queens, the playrooms of his children - a whole house built with curious double walls for hide and seek - his private chapels Mahommedan and Hindu (the latter went very much against the grain in the mind of our holy man) his council rooms, his audience rooms, till at last our guide said "I am holy man, my charge 4 rupees. Now I will go to prayers." So we paid him and sent him away and ourselves returned to the Dak Bungalow and lunched on Peacock Stew, which seemed appropriate but turned out to be remarkably tough, and then we drove home to Agra. Next morning we went 6 miles out to see Akbar's tomb at Sikandra [Sikhandra] and climbed up 5 stories [sic] of red sandstone pyramid, each story [sic] set round with columns and detached pavilions till we came of the white marble court at the top, cloistered, and open to the sky, in which stands the tomb, carved with wreaths of wild roses and inscribed with the 99 names of God, the Creator, the Merciful, the Compassionate, the Omniscient. He has a hundredth name, but it is known only to the angels. We spent the rest of the day in Agra Fort and in the Taj and came back at sunset to pack up and prepare for our journey. We had been told horrible stories of the state of the lines to Delhi, that we should never get a seat in any train, that all our luggage would be lost, and so on, and when we got to the station our hearts fell, for it was quite full of people sitting about on their baggage and waiting for something to take them to Delhi. They had probably been waiting all day. We had decided to take the local train at 8.45 and arrive comfortably early next day. At 8.30, a train came in and we fought our way through the crowd till a friendly station master put us into a carriage where there was one Englishman and found that we had got into the 7 o'clock express and were due at midnight. However, as we were there we decided to remain, the more so as there was a carriage next door with one woman in it, into which I climbed with my luggage while we stopped at a siding, wrapped ourselves in every rug and coat we had and went to sleep. The next thing we knew was that it was 6.30 AM and we were just arriving at Delhi, 6½ hours late, after an excellent night. And what was most remarkable of all was that our luggage arrived too. So we packed ourselves into the hotel bus and drove up here where we found our lodging, 2 excellent tents, and installed ourselves and had tea and toast and waited for our things to come up, while Mr Schuster, who is our next tent neighbour came in and talked to us and told us the gossip of Delhi. Hugo went out to church and I unpacked and dressed in a leisurely manner and strolled round to the hotel to breakfast at 10. Then I met Susan who had ridden over with her host, Colonel Coxhead, Carrie's brother, to see me, and we all went to Sibyl's tent and talked. Arthur appeared before lunch; he is such a darling, looking older and thinner, and very wise about the country and the people, having seen and observed a great deal and drawn conclusions which are well worth hearing. He comes to see us every day; it's a great pleasure having him, dear creature. We are going to pig stick with him in February. In the afternoon we drove out to leave letters of introduction and write our names of [sic] governors and generals and viceroys. You can't think what the camp it like, an immense town of tents stretching for miles on all sides of Delhi, with streets and roads and dairies and hospitals. And I'm told that Lord Curzon had arranged that if a single case of plague appeared in Delhi, the whole thing was to have been removed bodily to Agra where the ground has been surveyed and mapped out for it. Perhaps if the Moguls had been doing it they would have built a whole city of red sandstone and marble for the fortnight's festivities, but even they could not have lighted it with electric light and filled it with every kind of civilization which has existed from 2000 BC until now. On the whole I expect this is the finest show that has ever been known. There is an American in our hotel who said to me after the Entry on Monday "We can't do this in Boston." Need I say more! Along the streets of the camp every sort of person rides and drives with every sort of animal. The carriage I should really like is a brake drawn by 4 camels, but short of that our victoria is very satisfactory, a horse that goes like the wind and a driver who fishes us out of the densest crowds when we come away from the Polo ground of an afternoon. Pack 6 kings dressed in green and yellow and gold and a state treasury of pearls and emeralds into one landau, harness 4 horses to it with postillions clothed in every colour of the rainbow, put 4 mounted lancers in front and 4 behind - and you have just the beginning of the vaguest idea of what a Raja looks like when he goes out driving. And you meet 20 of them in half an hour. (I may mention that the original ancestor of the above kings is the Moon.) Baroda has a carriage drawn by 4 elephants - we shall see that at the Durbar. We ended our afternoon by going up to the Polo Ground where we met all the world - a most entertaining party and then we came back to find Arthur waiting for us and talked to him till dinner. After which we went to bed and slept most soundly in our tents. We have oil stoves in them and they are most warm and comfy. I have divided mine by a curtain into a bedroom and a sitting room. It's too nice for words. On Monday was the State Entry. We are sent tickets for everything in the very best places by the kind Walter Lawrences, so all those tales about our having to pay for things are absolutely untrue. We started off soon after 9 and drove along the line of the procession to our places. Now I know you won't believe all the tales I am going to tell, still I'll tell them all the same. When we got through the Lahore Gate, we drove past a solid line of elephants a quarter of a mile long. All their faces and their trunks and their forelegs were painted in patterns of blue and red and yellow, no two alike. The rest of them was hidden by trappings of gold and silver cloth and embroideries and on their backs they had silver howdahs. These, however, we subsequently found were only the rag tag and bobtail of elephants, and the others - well, you shall hear of them. We turned down a wide road leading straight to the great Mosque - it was all a blaze of colour the various schools were posted along it, the children being marked out by the colour of their turbans, one green, one yellow, one white and so on. The wide flight of stairs leading up to the Mosque gate were a living flower garden of colour, the road blazed with the liveries of great people - the official scarlet and gold, the yellow and red of the Nizam, the blue and silver of Idar, the green and silver of the Agha Khan and the infinite variety of everything else that any private person or big or little raja may have hit upon. And the light, the white glare of Indian light bringing them all into harmony. In this country you can put pink and magenta and scarlet and flame coloured orange onto one brown body, and each glows with its own particular glow and in no way interferes with the other. The Procession lasted exactly an hour: first soldiers, then the Viceroy's bodyguard, {mounted} native cavalry, then Pertab Singh at the head of the Cadet Corps, all sons of Rajas, then the Viceroy and Lady C, followed by the Connaughts, all on elephants and then a troop of some 100 Raja on elephants, a glittering mass of jewels and gold. The Rajas were roped in pearls and emeralds from the neck to the waist, with cords of pearls slung over their shoulders and tassels of pearls hanging from their turbans, their dresses were shot gold cloth or gold embroidered velvet. The elephants had tassels of jewels hanging from their ears which Mr Lawrence told me were worth a king's ransom. Lady Curzon looked most beautiful; she made a very satisfactory head even of this splendour. Behind them followed the Rajas' attendants on the elephants we had already seen, and last of all came more troops. It was the most gorgeous show that can possibly be imagined. In the afternoon we went to the Polo which was great fun and then to tea with the Walter Lawrences who are enchanting people. (He has just been made a knight) We dined with Mr Chirol at the Press Camp and I sat by a charming man called Hughes Buller who told me thrilling things about languages. Mr Landon was there and the Menpeses, father and daughter. On Tuesday Mr Landon breakfasted with us and he and I went out shopping and sightseeing in the morning. The Chandi Chauk which is the great street of Delhi where we shopped, is supposed to be the richest street in the world, a street of hovels covering stores of jewels. I went to the Polo in the afternoon and was vastly entertained meeting all the world, and dropped in to tea with the Gasgoynes on my way back at the Baluchistan Camp. There I met a Cookson cousin of Sibyl's who is in the Gordon Highlanders and who asked me to dine one day next week. Arthur dined with us and Sibyl and Mr Schuster came in and chatted afterwards. On Wed. H and I drove miles away to see the Kolhapur people. The Maharaja was down with fever and could not see us unfortunately, but we saw Col. Ferris, the Resident, and his wife - deadly people! (Breathe it not!) We lunched in the Press Camp with a man called Wodehouse, to meet the Resident of Muscat [Masqat], Cox, who gave me the latest news of Central Arabia, and drove on to the Polo, where I saw the Maharaja of Jodhpur, who is supposed to be the second best player in the world (the first being Bikaneer [Bikaner]) make a miraculous goal, running the ball down half the field and striking in from ever so far away. Hugo dined with Arthur, and I talked to Mr Strachey, who was dining in this camp and the Daveys who are lodged here, and went early to bed.

Jan. 1st. [1 January 1902] We put on our best clothes and started off at 9 for a 4 miles' drive to the Durbar horseshoe. The road was packed with people of every kind, but we managed to reach our destination about 10.30. Then we had a most amusing party, walking round and talking to the people and looking at the Rajas as they arrived. I wonder how many millions' worth of jewels that place held! It was shaped like this [sketch of horseshoe] but colossally large. V. [top centre, just inside the horseshoe] is where the Viceroy and the Connaughts sat, G. [behind, to the right of V.] is about our places - so you see we were well situated. The dotted line [round the inside of the horseshoe] is the carriage road. I made friends, dumbly, with the Shan chiefs who were dressed in gold armour in tiers and gold pagodas on their heads. They stood for me to photograph them and then one solemnly handed me his card. His name is Keng Tung Sawbwa. I would have asked him to come and stay, but he could speak nothing but Shan, whatever that may be. What the jewels were like you can't imagine! Little Patiala must have had at least ú500 000 worth of pearls on, and one boy was roped in them to his knees. I saw one necklace of 3 strings of which each pearl was as large as a thrush's egg. And they wore clear uncut emeralds hanging in drops or threaded on pearl strings, the stones an inch and a half long. The function began with the entrance of the Delhi siege Veterans - this was the great moment of all, a body of old men, white and native, and every soul in that great arena rose and cheered. At the end came some 20 or 30 Gurkhas, little old men in bottle green, some bent double with years, some lame and stumbling with Mutiny wounds. And last of all came an old blind man in a white turban, leaning on a stick. As he passed us, he turned his blind eyes towards the shouting and raised a trembling hand to salute the unseen thousands of the race to which he had stood true. After that Viceroys and kings went by almost without a thrill. But still it was a great show. First the Connaughts, then the Viceroy's bodyguard in scarlet and white with blue and gold turbans, then the magnificent Cadet Corps in pale blue and gold, then the Viceroy. The world shook with the sound of the great salutes and down the miles of troops in front of us rolled a fire of muskets. Then the heralds came riding round, gorgeous in red and gold and read the King's Proclamation. Then after more salutes and bands Lord C. [Curzon] made a very good speech, every word of which we could hear, and then for close on an hour ruling kings and chiefs filed past him and the Duke, gave them their sword handles to touch and offered their congratulations. It all lasted till past 3 and we were home at 5, which was not bad. What the dust is like, I can't begin to say. When the sun gets low, you see it, a leaden violet cloud half way up the sky. You eat it and drink it and live in it! Oliver is here; he came to see us last night, looking charming, not fat at all and handsome and delightful. He and Arthur dine with us tonight. Ever your affectionate daughter Gertrude