It is much harder, I am afraid, to be a good Bengali than a good
Englishman. _Nikhil_, the Rajah of Sir RABINDRANATH TAGORE'S _The Home
and the World_ (MACMILLAN), persists in treating _Sandip Babu_ (a
convinced Nietzchean in philosophy and a Nationalist of the most
inflammable type) as an honoured guest of his household, in spite of the
fact that he differs from the fellow profoundly on every conceivable
topic and is well aware, moreover, that _Sandip_ is rapidly winning the
heart of his Rani, _Bimala_. _Nikhil_, you see, considers that "all
imposition of force is weakness," and that "only the weak dare not be
just." Most Westerners, I think, would have kicked the rhapsodical and
rather plausible agitator out-of-doors and felt all the better for it
from the boot-toe upwards. The real truth is that the story, which is
written in the form of a triple autobiography (_Nikhil, Sandip_ and
_Bimala_ all taking a hand at telling it in turn) is an exposition of
two views of Suadeshi, or what may be called the Sinn Fein movement in
India. _Nikhil_ is the apostle of "self-realisation" as a moral force;
_Sandip_ believes in grabbing whatever you can. The latter first deifies
his country (_Bande Mataram,_ or "Hail, Mother!" is the Nationalist
motto) and then identifies _Bimala_ with the object of his worship,
which seems a very convenient theory. As for _Bimala_, she wavers
between the two. The romantic interest of the book (which is, by the
way, a translation) breaks down rather badly when it becomes clear that
_Sandip_ is not really a big enough man to make a complete conquest
of the Rani; but from every other point of view it is supremely
interesting. And if _Nikhil_ might perhaps have been improved by a
little less force of character and more of shoe-leather, _Bimala_, at
any rate, is a delightful personage.

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