Koditschek Theodore. Liberalism, Imperialism, and the Historical Imagination: Nineteenth-Century Visions of a Greater Britain

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in external knowledge and they are expert teachers too. Therefore, we shall make

them kings. English education will impart external knowledge to the people of this

country and thus enable them to understand spiritual knowledge.

As this conclusion demonstrates, for all his greater intellectual sophis-

tication, Bankim could not escape the same dreary dualism between

spiritualism (Indian) and materialism (English) that had ani mated (and

imprisoned) Keshub’s life and work. In Bankim’s last major book,

Dharmatattva (1888), he comes closest to the message of Keshub, offering

the inward spiritual turn as an antidote to worl dly disempowerment. Yet

where Keshub’s Hinduism evaporates into a “higher” universa list syn-

thesis, Bankim ’s retains its Indi an character. Here the essence of

Hinduism is located in dharma – the sense of duty and devotion that

facilitates a good life of spiritual welfare and mental prosperity. By casting

his book in the form of a dialogue betwe en a guru and his somewhat

skeptical disciple, Bankim appeals to the bhadralok, which needs to be

convinced that Hindu dharma still has meaning in the modern world.

English education is acknowledged as a medium for scientiﬁc training,

but is criticized for its soullessness and amorality. The equality that

Bankim once preached is not entirely repudiated, but resp ect is demanded

for natural authority. The superiority of leaders over follow ers, of teachers

over students, and of men over women is now asserted as the natural order

of things. Love is offered as the highest good, but love for self and even

love for family are deemed to be inferior to a selﬂess love for the mother-

land. To bear arms for one’s country is dharma in its highest form.

Like Anandamath, Dharmatattva is nota ble for its disconnection from

real-world history. The Indian “spiritual” progress narrative has lost its

connection with reality. Both books oscillate between dreams of revolt

and nightmares of humiliation. They offer paeans to national unity that

are couched in language that can only inﬂame sectarian division.

Convinced of his own moral superiority, Bankim is a man who is deter-

mined to make a difference, and yet he can ﬁnd no point of entry into the

current of actual events. Bankim’s history, as Kaviraj perceptively argues,

is an “imaginary history”: the history of what did not happen, but which he

hoped to convert, through his writings, into a hist ory of what might yet

become. “Bengal has no history,” Bankim lamented, and “Bengal must

have her own history, or else there is no hope.”

Yet instead of buckling

Quoted in Das, Artist in Chains, 136.

Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay, Dharmatattva, trans. Apratim Ray (Oxford, 2003).

Kaviraj, Unhappy Consciousness, especially 123. Perhaps this is what Bankim meant

when he cryptically avowed that “there is not a single work in E nglish that is a true

history of Bengal ... A Bengali who accepts this kind of writing as t he history of

Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay 285

down to forge this genre, he had to opt for the ﬁctional safety of his

compensatory masculinist fantasies. Yet for bhadralok men, even a dec-

ade younger than Keshub and Bankim, new realms of possibility were

opening up. R. C. Dutt was able to work his way into the covenanted civil

service, while Surendranath Banerjea, who also passed the civil service

exam, found himself catapulted onto a career-path more momentous still.

5 Surendranath Banerjea and the Indianization

of Macaulay’s constitutio nal romance

It is perhaps ﬁtting that Banerjea got into trouble with the British author-

ities for so perfectly following the Macaulay strategy. Having educated

himself to become an Englishman in taste and opinions, and having

qualiﬁed through the test that Macaulay helped set up, he found his ICS

appointment quashed on a technicality. Drawing on his rights as a British

subject, he used the judicial system to get the decision reverse d. Foisted

on a bureaucracy that did not want him, he was posted to a remote district,

in a hostile work environment, where, once again, a technicality tripped

him up. Expelled from the ICS, he returned to London and retrained as a

barrister, only to discover that his expulsion disqualiﬁed him from prac-

ticing in the courts. At this point, young Banerjea might have been

defeated or crushed. Fortunately, he had read his Macaulay , and under-

stood that corrupt establishments never concede without a struggle and

that the triumph of liberty over tyranny is always hard-won. “In the Iron

grip of ruin I had already formed some forecast of the work that was

awaiting me in life. I felt that I had suffered because I was an Indian, a

member of a community that lay disorganized, had no public opinion, and

no voice in the counsels of their Government.”

And so Banerjea built his own career as a teacher, started a newspaper,

and commenced an agitation to gain the rights of a freeborn Briton for

Indians like himself. On April 2, 1883, his paper The Bengalee published a

biting editorial, comparing a High Court Justice to the seventeenth-

century English Judge Jeffreys. Altho ugh ofﬁcial censorship had rec ently

been lifted, Banerjea was cited for contempt of court and sentenced to

four months in prison. This time, the authorities discovered that their

persecution of Banerjea was a serious mistake. Three years earlier the

Bengal, is not a true B engali.” Quotes in Ranajit Guha, An Indian Historiography of

India: A Nineteenth Century Agenda and its Implications (Calcutta, 1988), 1, 56, and

Haldar, “Introduction,” 104 .

Surendranath Banerjea, A Nation in Making [1925] (Oxford, 1963), 1–90, quote on 30.

For background on Indian students in London, see Burton, At the Heart of Empire,1–71.

On the covenanted ICS more generally, see David Gilmour, The Ruling Caste: Imperial

Lives in the Victorian Raj (New York, 2006).

286 Indian liberals and Greater Britain

Tory Lytton had been replaced by Lord Ripon, a Viceroy who came to

India under the mantle of Gladstonian liberalism, with a mandate to

restore Macaulayite policies, to conciliate the bhadralok, and to move in

the direction of juridical equality. Upon arrival, Ripon found him self

confronted on the one side with the fervid hopes of anglicized natives,

on the other with the fevered hostility of the white community. When his

Legal Member, Ilbert, tried once aga in to extend the authority of native

judges to jurisdiction over Europeans, Ripon received a reaction even

more furious than that which had greeted Macaulay in 1836, and

Bethune in 1849 .

Coming at the height of the Ilbert Bill controversy, Banerjea ’s convic-

tion and imprisonment reinforced the message that the Raj had classiﬁed

all Indian natives as hereditary inferiors, unﬁt for the rights of freeborn

Britons. The educated babu in particular was charged with being incom-

petent and inauthentic, as the old trope of the “effeminate Bengali” was

unleashed from the Anglo-Indian press. In this perhaps there was nothing

new. But Banerjea’s determination to ﬁght this derogation by invoking the

historical struggles of British history was, in fact, a novel development,

since it reﬂected the determination of men like himself to refuse inferior

status as objects of evolution, and to transform themselves into subjects

who could act in history. For this reason the case electriﬁed the bhadralok

community. By the time Banerjea was released, he had become a celeb-

rity: a symbol of resistance, and a leading ﬁ gure in a ﬂedgling movement

that sought to force colonial administrators to live up to the promises of

the EIC Charter of 1833 and the Queen’s India Proclamation of 1858.

As they formulated their goals in the course of agitation, Banerjea and

his associates drew again and again on the themes of Macaulay’sEnglish

constitutional history. Representative government, individual rights, the

right to bear arms, “no taxation without representation,” institutional

checks and balances: these had all be en w on by seventeenth-century

Britons, and it was only logical that they should be claimed by Indians

in the nineteenth century. Since British ofﬁcials were hard pressed to

deny the force of these arguments, they resorted to ad hominem attacks

S. Gopal, British Policy in India, 1858–1905 (Cambridge, 1965), 64–179; Seal, Emergence

of Indian Nationalism, 131–93; R. J. Moore, Liberalism and India Politics (London, 1966),

1–62. For a fuller discussion of this shift, see Thomas R. Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj

(Cambridge, 1994), 28–159; Wilfred Scawen Blunt, Indian under Ripon (London, 1909);

Bose, Racism, Struggle, 152–239.

Banerjea, Nation in Making,37–90; Mrinalini Sinha, Colonial Masculinity: The “Manly

Englishman” and the “Effeminate Bengali” in the Late Nineteenth Century (Manchester,

1995), especially 1–99; Heather Streets, Martial Races: The Military, Race and

Masculinity in British Imperial Culture, 1857–1914 (Manchester, 2004), 158–68.

Surendranath Banerjea 287

on the agitators, reinforced by the observation that they represented

only a minuscule portion of the Indian population. Constitutional a gi-

tation was disparaged as the crotchet of Bengali intellectuals, for which

the mass of India’s strug gling illiterate peasants and “ma rtial races”

of the north cared not a whit. Calls for “representative government”

and “careers open to talent” were dismiss ed as the ruses of covetous

Brahmans.

Stirred by these criticisms from the imperial masters, Banerjea and his

colleagues understood that they would have to demonstrate their untruth.

To mount an effective political movement, they would have to encompass

every region of India and gain support from at least the majority of all

middle-class social groups. Banerjea, who would entitle his autobiography

A Nation in Making, understood the importance of achieving this goal. He

knew that if India were ever to take her proper place as a self-governing

dominion in the British Empire, she would have to develop a distinc-

tively political identi ty. The Hindu-inﬂected spiritualism of Keshub,

Debendranath, and Bankim would have to be replaced with something

more open and secular. Indian nationality would have to encompass all

the many diverse castes, regions, culture s, and religions that had hitherto

merely co -existed on the subc ontinent.

To this end, in 1883, Surendranath organized an all-India national

conference in Calcutta that drew delegates from all the leading cities

and towns. The following year, he went on a speaking tour of northern

India to spread the gospel of national organi zation and unity. In 1884, a

second annual conference was planned for December. These plans, how-

ever, were complicated by the perception that the Bengali bhadralok

leadership was too dominant within the movement, and that the second

conference should be held in the west. In the event, meetings were held

simultaneously in both Bombay and Calcutta. In the aftermath of these

stirring and inspiring occasions, the two groups coalesced, agreeing to

rotate their ofﬁcers and meeting venues on an annual basis. In this

manner, the Indian National Congress was born.

In retrospect, we see the creation of Congress as an awesome milestone

in India’s history. At the time, however, its leaders knew that it was fragile

“It was constantly dinned into our ears that our political demands, whatever they were,

came from people of the deltaic Ganges, who did not contribute a single soldier to the

army, and who were separated from the North by a wide gulf of isolation, if not of

alienation.” Banerjea, Nation in Making, 81; Seal, Emergence of Indian Nationalism,

131–340.

Banerjea, Nation in Making,79–90.

Banerjea, Nation in Making,90–113; S. R. Mehrotra, A History of the Indian National

Congress (New Delhi, 1995), I: 1–46.

288 Indian liberals and Greater Britain

and weak. The ICS was dead-set against it, and the new Viceroy, Lord

Dufferin, was wary.

The sectarian divisions among the Indian groups

were not so much resolved as suspended, and the participation of

Muslims was spotty at best. For all these reasons, the movement resolved

to steer clear of both religion and the social issues (i.e. those connected

with women’s emancipation) that had caused so much trouble even within

the Hindu community. Patriarchal assumptions, which Keshub and

Bankim had at least momentarily questioned, were taken for gr anted in

the Congress program, which was couched entirely in masculinist con-

stitutional terms. In 1891, when the government tried to raise the age of

sexual consent from ten to twelve, a storm of protest arose in many

traditional Hindu circles. Liberals who, like Banerjea, opposed child

marriage in principle were placed in a bind. Patriotic considerations

obliged them to join in opposition to reforms that they would have

supported under other circumstances. What would Englishmen think if

Indians interfered with their divorce laws? “Any interference from outside

is the ofﬁcious impertinence of strangers , and it can do no good, but may

do a great deal of harm.”

Yet when male nationalists united around the defense of Hindu (or

Muslim) patriarchy, this did not really strengthen the movement, as

Mrinalini Sinha has pointed out. It merely insured that the early

Congress would be de-legitimized in the metropolis, and would pose no

fundamental threat to British imperial autocracy. As we have seen over the

course of this volume, the one thing on which the Edgeworths, Walter

Scott, the Macaulays, Froude, and the evolutionary historians all agreed

was the normativity of separate-spheres domesticity, on which the foun-

dation of true Britishness was deemed to rest. This gender norm was

important, not merely as the basis for a modern bourgeois family, but

because it underwrote a new kind of centrist politics that eschewed

the reactionary or impotent (effeminate) and radical (h yper-masculine)

extremes. By failing to place the rights of women at core of their program,

the early Congress leaders lost a certain amount of potential metropolitan

sympathy. As Sinha shows, this played into the hands of Maineite policy-

makers, who rationalized their refusal to grant political rights by declaring

child marriage to be an inviolable custom, thereby compensating these

men wi th their own separate “trad itional” uncolonized space.

Howard Brasted, “Indian Nationalist Development and the Inﬂuence of Irish Home

Rule, 1870–1886,” Modern Asian Studies, 14.1 (1980), 44–5.

Sinha, Colonial Masculinity, 138–80, quote on 142.

Sinha, Colonial Masculinity, especially 108–9, 130–1, 140–2, 150–1, 180–5; Sarkar, Hindu

Wife, 191–249.

Surendranath Banerjea 289

Trapped yet again in the maws of a contradiction, the Congress leaders

tried to prove the bona ﬁdes of their liberalism by emphasizing the moder-

ation of their political demands. All they wanted was (1) the expansion

of Indian legislative councils to include a minority of elective members,

(2) the separation of judicial from executive functions in government, (3)

the raising of the age of Civil Service eligibility, and (4) for exams to be

added in Calcutta, simultaneous with those in Lond on.

Because they

knew that the entire force of the ICS was against them, the Congress

leaders understood that they had to seek support among English liberals,

who were likely to view them skeptically on both race and gender grounds.

This desire to appeal to wary metropolitan liberals probably explains the

prominent role played by the retired ICS ofﬁcer A. O. Hume in the early

years of Congress. It also explains why the move ment put a premium on

the skills of men like Naoroji and Banerjea, who had lived in England and

who embodied British manners and respectability to a fault.

Eager to

transcend the internal divisions that kept Indians from uniting, Banerjea

turned to the history of Europe to make his case that such differences

could be overcome. “Let us take the example of Switzerland,” he would

say, or “of Belgium,” or “the case of Germany” or “Italy.” In each of these

instances, peoples who had been divided by language, religion, customs,

and manner s had recognized that their future depended on the ability to

set aside these differences and create powerful nation-states in the poli-

tical realm. In India, this task of creating political union was being sign ally

advanced by the British Empire itself.

It is England’s mission in the East to save, regenerate, emancipate from the chains

of ignorance, error and superstition, 150 millions of human beings, to heal the

wounds that have been inﬂicted on them by the rapacity of their former rulers ...to

reconcile the jarring conﬂicts of the diverse Indian nationalities, to ... make them

feel that they have to make common cause for the redress of common grievances.

Through the spread of the railroad, through the development of the

economy, through English education, through the unifying force of the

English language, Indians were being brought together. Through

England’s own history of representative government – the long struggles

of its people for freedom against tyrants – India would learn the value of her

own national liberty. That this English-inspired freedom had to be wrested

from the tyranny of Britain was simply one of history’sironies.“We shall

Sinha, Colonial Masculinity, 138–80; Mehrotra, Indian National Congress,I:22–30.

Mehrotra, Indian National Congress,I:1–46; Seal, Emergence of Indian Nationalism, 245–

97; Banerjea, Nation in Making, 104; Briton Martin, New India, 1885: British Ofﬁcial

Policy and the Emergence of the Indian National Congress (Berkeley, 1969), 53–78.

Surendranath Banerjea, Speeches (Calcutta, 1970), I: 36.

290 Indian liberals and Greater Britain

borrow that page from England’s history, fasten it on our own banner, and

unfurl that banner before the gaze of our own countrymen.”

Some years later, in a speech before the Oxford Union, Banerjea

developed this line of analysis further, in a direction that aimed to please,

but also to challenge, his hosts.

Representative institutions are a consecrated possession, which in the counsels of

Providence have been entrusted to the English people, to guard that possession, to

spread it, and not to make it the property of this people or that people, but the

heritage of mankind at large. England is the home of representative institutions;

from England as the center, representative institutions have spread far and wide

until this country has justly been called the august mother of free nations. The

people of India are children of that mother, and they claim their birthright, they

claim to be admitted into the rights of British citizens and British fellow-subjects.

With this clever presentation of Indian nationalism as a distinctively

British (even English) creation, Banerjea believed he had resolved the con-

tradiction that had undermined his predecessors. They had tried to circum-

vent British colonial subordination by escaping into a separate sphere of

Indian spirituality (or patriarchy), only to ﬁnd that, even here, imperial

domination thwarted their agency. By boldly appropriating Britain’sliberal

history for his own Indian emancipatory project, Banerjea turned the tables

on the colonial master: Britain was in danger of betraying her own best

traditions, which had now been taken over by Indian patriots such as he.

Because Indian nationalists of later generations would se ek a political

rupture with Britain, it is important to emphasize just how far this ﬁrst

generation envisioned their own nationalism in distinctively British terms.

This position was not unique to Banerjea, but was also articulated by

many of the other early Congress leaders. In 1887, B. C. Pal acknow-

ledged that he was “loyal to the British Government, because with me

loyalty to the British Government is identical to loyalty to my own coun-

try.”“It should not be forgotten for a moment,” avowed C. S. Nair, “that

the real link that binds us to England is the hope and the belief that

we shall, under her guidance alone, attain national unity and national

freedom.” According to M. M. Ghose, “our allegiance to the British

Government is based, not only on the feeling of gratitude ... but also on

the highest grounds of expediency.”

These statements should not be read as the servile submissions of

colonial dependents. They were intended as clear-sighted calculations

by trailblazing nationalists who reco gnized that the highest hope for

Indian unity and independence lay in cultivating the British connection.

Banerjea, Speeches, I: 44.

Banerjea, Nation in Making, 108.

Quoted in Mehrotra, Indian National Congress, I: 118. See also Kopf, Brahmo Samaj, 131.

Surendranath Banerjea 291

In an era when Canada, Australia, and New Zeala nd were becoming self-

governing British dominions, it was not absurd to suppose that the Indian

government might be reorganized along comparable lines. With London

and Manchester as the centers of global capitalism, the British connection

had obvious potential advantages, particularly if India could (like the

white dominions) obtain some leeway in formulating her own economic

and tariff policies. Last, but not least, the huge challenges of creating unity

among the subcontinent’s vast array of castes, regions, religions, and

cultures might be easier if it were cast in a Greater British mold. Just as

England, Scotland, and (it was hoped) Ireland were r esolving their own

inner class, ethnic, and religious divis ions within the British framework,

the same process might work for India too.

Of course, all this assumed that the Anglo-Saxons of the British met-

ropolis could be recalled to their libertarian historical traditions and

brought to see the virtue (as well as the self-interest) in Indian political

unity and autonomy. For Banerjea’s generation of early nationalists, this

was not an unreasonable assumption. True enough, they could see the

racism, brutality, and contempt of the British planters and civil servants

who had descended on their homeland like a plague. They could also see

how this public disempowerment had sent many Indian men on quixotic

spiritual quests, or into exaggerated forms of domestic patriarchy. Yet

they could console themselves with the hope that these attitudes, on both

sides, were the pathological products of arbitrary power. The pr oblem,

they believed, was that ordinary decent-minde d Britons had no cogni-

zance of the corrupt and oppressive policies that were perpetrated in their

name.

Such rhetoric, it must be said, came more easily to men like Banerjea,

who spent only a few years in the metropolis. To Dadabhai Naoroji, who

spent most of his time in London, such happy illusions were more difﬁcult

to sustain. He understood how little most Britons either knew or cared

about India. Worst of all, he saw how the pseudo-scientiﬁc racism of

ethnologists like Crawfurd, or historians like Froude, was making it

difﬁcult for Britons of any political stripe to see Indians as their equals

and fellow citizens. Yet in spite of these dif ﬁculties, Naoroji persevered in

the hope of obtaining justice to India through the medium of Greater

British politics. The result was not only a more consequential political

Charles Dilke, The Problems of Greater Britain (London, 1890), 349–698; see J. E. Taylor,

The Struggle for Imperial Unity, 1869–1895 (London, 1938); and Ged Martin, “The Idea of

Imperial Federation,” in Reappraisals in British Imperial History (London, 1975), 121–38.

Banerjea, Nation in Making, 103–13.

292 Indian liberals and Greater Britain

program, but also a more profound and original contribution to

historiography.

6 Dadabhai Naoroji: imperial mis-government

and the history of the “drain”

Born a full generation before Banerjea, in 1825, Dadabhai Naoroji ﬁrst

traveled to London in 1855, at the age of thirty. Over many years, as a

merchant, a teac her of Gujerati, a pub lic speaker, a father substitute for

Indian students, and a parliamentary lobbyist for Indian interests, he

came to know the imperial metropolis very well. Emerging as a key ﬁgure

in the British India Association, he served as intermediary between its

London and Indian branches. Working closely with a handful of sympa-

thetic British politicians like William Wedderburn, Henry Fawcett, and

John Bright, he anticipated what would become th e leading demands of

Congress long before there was any real organization in India to back

them up. Tirelessly, he canvassed metropolitan politicians to open up

the civil service to qualiﬁed natives, to create meaningful institution s of

representative governme nt, and to force the government to become

accountable to the people whom it taxed.

Yet Naoroji also understood

that the problem was structural. The reason why the Irish Question was

constantly before the metropolitan Parliament and public was that Irish

nationalists had a phalanx of MPs in Westminster, and were able to use

this political cl out to keep Home Rule on the political agenda. Given the

dearth of sympathetic parliamentary spokesmen, Naoroji realized that

what India needed was at least a few MPs. To this end, during the

1880s he began focusing his work on trying to build an alliance with

English trade unionists and Irish Home Rulers to seek a seat in the

House of Commons for himself. In 1886, at the height of the Home

Rule crisis, he stood for Holborn, and appealed to English electors’ own

historical self-narratives as grounds for supporting Irish and Indian eman-

cipation. “What is the proudest chapter in British history?” he asked.

“That of the Stuarts. You did not tolerate the laws of your own sovereign,

because you thought they were not your laws, (cheers). You waged civil

war, regardless of consequences, and fought till you established the prin-

ciple that the English will be their own sovereign.”

Masani, Dadabhai Naoroji,1–47.

Masani, Dadabhai Naoroji,1–80; Mary Cumpston, “Some Early Indian Nationalists and

their Allies in the British Parliament, 1851–1906,” English Historical Review, 76.299

(April, 1961), 279–97.

Dadabhai Naoroji, Speeches and Writings (Madras, 1917), 206; Brasted, “Indian

Nationalist Development,” 37–63.

Dadabhai Naoroji 293

In this speech, Naoroji went on in the sam e vein of radicalized

Macaulayism. So far from jeopardizing the Empire, Home Rule for

Ireland and justice for India were the only means for preserving it over

the long run. Irishmen and Indian s were not separatists. They wanted to

join the glorious stream of British history, al beit as fellow citizens rather

than as racialized menials. When Naoroji was defeated in the general

election, he refused to be disheartened and simply relocated his efforts

elsewhere. In 1892, he stood for Finsbury Central. This time the Prime

Minister, Lord Salisbury, himself drew attention to the contest, when he

“doubt[ed] if we have yet got to the point where a British constituency

would elect a [sic] black man.” The Finsbury electors, however, proved

Salisbury wrong. When Naoroji was returned by the narrowest of mar-

gins, Indians were exultant. Many hoped that a new day had dawned.

Naoroji’s parliamentary career, however, proved to be disappointing

and brief. As a lo wly backbencher in support of Gladstone’s fourth

government, he found the political agenda crowded with other issues.

He was naturally frustrated by his inability to direct attention to Indian

concerns. While his fellow legislators were indifferent to his invocations

of Elphins tone, Bentinck, or Macaulay, they did agree to create a Royal

Commission on Indian Expenditures. Shortl y before his defeat in the

general election of 1895, Naoroji was appointed to the commission.

Here, ami d expert testimony, piles of returns, and masses of statistics,

Naoroji – both as historian and as politician – was ﬁnally able to come into

his own.

Because of his background as a Bombay merchant (and as a former

mathematics professor), Na oroji had always been more attuned to the

economic dimension of India’s condition than the purely literary

Calcutta bhadralok had been. For many years he had been collecting

information about the economic consequences of British rule. Here he

had encountered a paradox: from the very moment when the principles

of liberal imperialism had been proclaimed, the India n population had

been getting poorer. T he spread of western education and creation of a

capitalist economy had brought no bene ﬁts to the mass of the people. On

the contrary, from the 1770s onward, a series of devastating famines had

led t o hunger, epidemics, and millions of deaths. How was this paradox

to be e xplained? Naoroji was extremely critical of the statistics tha t the

Indian government made available, but through a series of ingenious

calculations he had already discerned, by the 1870s, that whereas the per

Masani, Dadabhai Naoroji,81–117; Jonathan Schneer, London, 1900: The Imperial

Metropolis (New Haven, 1999), 184–202.

Naoroji, Speeches and Writings, 121–4; Schneer, London, 1900, 184–202.

294 Indian liberals and Greater Britain