In the winter of 1555 Humayon was descending a stairway when his foot slipped and he fell headlong to the bottom.  He was carried into his palace and died a few days later, being succeeded by his son, a boy of 13, who in many respects was the noblest of the Moguls, and is called in history Akbar the Great.  He came to the throne in 1556, and his reign, which lasted until 1605, was almost contemporaneous with that of Queen Elizabeth.  In reading his history one is impressed by the striking resemblance between him and the present Emperor of Germany.  Beiram, who had been his father’s prime minister, and whose clear intellect, iron will and masterful ability had elevated the house of Tamerlane to the glory and power it then enjoyed, remained with the young king as his adviser, and, owing to the circumstances, did not treat him with as much deference and respect as Akbar’s lofty notions considered proper.  The boy endured the slights for four years, and when he reached the age of 17 there occurred at the court of the Moguls an incident which was repeated several centuries later at Berlin, but it turned out differently.

Beiram, like Bismarck, submitted to the will of his young master, surrendered all insignia of authority, and started on a pilgrimage to Mecca, but before he left India his chagrin and indignation got the better of his judgment and he inspired an insurrection against the throne.  He was arrested and brought back to Delhi, where, to his surprise, he was received with the greatest ceremony and honor.  According to the custom of the time, nobles of the highest rank clothed him with garments from the king’s wardrobe, and when he entered the royal presence Akbar arose, took him by the hand and led the astonished old man to a seat beside the imperial throne.  Beiram, realizing the magnanimity of his boyish master, fell upon his knees, kissed the feet of the king, and between sobs begged for pardon.  The king conferred the greatest possible honors upon him, but gave him no responsibility, and Beiram’s proud and sensitive soul found relief in resuming his pilgrimage to Mecca.  But he never reached that holy place.  He died on the way by the hand of an Afghan noble, whose father, years before, he had killed in battle.

You must remember Akbar, because so many of the glories of Indian architecture, which culminate at Agra and Delhi, are due to his refined taste and appreciation for the beautiful, and I shall have a good deal to say about him, because he was one of the best men that ever wore a crown.  He was great in every respect; he was great as a soldier, great as a jurist, great as an executive, broad-minded, generous, benevolent, tolerant and wise, an almost perfect type of a ruler, if we are to believe what the historians of his time tell us about him.  He was the handsomest man in his empire; he excelled all his subjects in athletic exercises, in endurance and in physical strength and skill.  He was the best swordsman and the best horseman and his power over animals was as complete as over men.  And as an architect he stands unrivaled except by his grandson, who inherited his taste.