We got away by and by, and soon reached the outer edge of Benares; then there was another wait; but, as usual, with something to look at.  This was a cluster of little canvas-boxes—­palanquins.  A canvas-box is not much of a sight—­when empty; but when there is a lady in it, it is an object of interest.  These boxes were grouped apart, in the full blaze of the terrible sun during the three-quarters of an hour that we tarried there.  They contained zenana ladies.  They had to sit up; there was not room enough to stretch out.  They probably did not mind it.  They are used to the close captivity of the dwellings all their lives; when they go a journey they are carried to the train in these boxes; in the train they have to be secluded from inspection.  Many people pity them, and I always did it myself and never charged anything; but it is doubtful if this compassion is valued.  While we were in India some good-hearted Europeans in one of the cities proposed to restrict a large park to the use of zenana ladies, so that they could go there and in assured privacy go about unveiled and enjoy the sunshine and air as they had never enjoyed them before.  The good intentions back of the proposition were recognized, and sincere thanks returned for it, but the proposition itself met with a prompt declination at the hands of those who were authorized to speak for the zenana ladies.  Apparently, the idea was shocking to the ladies—­indeed, it was quite manifestly shocking.  Was that proposition the equivalent of inviting European ladies to assemble scantily and scandalously clothed in the seclusion of a private park?  It seemed to be about that.

Without doubt modesty is nothing less than a holy feeling; and without doubt the person whose rule of modesty has been transgressed feels the same sort of wound that he would feel if something made holy to him by his religion had suffered a desecration.  I say “rule of modesty” because there are about a million rules in the world, and this makes a million standards to be looked out for.  Major Sleeman mentions the case of some high-caste veiled ladies who were profoundly scandalized when some English young ladies passed by with faces bare to the world; so scandalized that they spoke out with strong indignation and wondered that people could be so shameless as to expose their persons like that.  And yet “the legs of the objectors were naked to mid-thigh.”  Both parties were clean-minded and irreproachably modest, while abiding by their separate rules, but they couldn’t have traded rules for a change without suffering considerable discomfort.  All human rules are more or less idiotic, I suppose.  It is best so, no doubt.  The way it is now, the asylums can hold the sane people, but if we tried to shut up the insane we should run out of building materials.