THE SHALIMAN BAGH GARDENS 35 



Moguls came to spend the summer months ; here 

 they dreamed away their sweetest honeymoons. 



The arrival of the Lady Sahib opens all doors to 

 us, and behind the high walls of the harems we can 

 see the gardens as they rise in great regularity, 

 terrace upon terrace. 



But, oh, what a terrible disappointment ! All the 

 lovely flowers have been plucked, and nothing but 

 weeds wind their way amongst the weather-beaten 

 mosaics of jasper and porphyry. 



Ruins of marble halls, weather-beaten kiosks, 

 crooked statues, broken-down colonnades, crumbling 

 fountains, may remind Lady Younghusband of Ver- 

 sailles ; but I, for my part, am disappointed not to 

 hear the drip of water, the pulse of life. 



" Shaliman Bagh " belongs to the past. Gone are 

 the pastoral hours when the lovely harem women of 

 the great ones of India played blind-man's buff within 

 its walls, and when Bajadern, hung with glittering 

 garments, pulled the strings of passion, showing 

 their red teeth and dancing with lead in their 

 slippers painted souls, whose cheeks never dimpled 

 with the sunlight of true happiness crackling, glisten- 

 ing, sandal-wood flames devoid of real warmth. 



And now they are sleeping their last long sleep 

 beneath our feet in company with the emperors and 

 sultanas, whilst we wander about, looking eagerly for 

 what is not here, and finding nothing but weeds, 

 stones, and a dreary stillness. 



