Born 1783.--Died 1826.
Reginald Heber, equally distinguished for his talents and for his
piety, was born on the 21st of April, 1783, at Malpas, in the county of
Chester. From his earliest years religion was the predominant feeling
of his mind. His passions, which would seem to have been naturally
ardent, he quickly learned to hold in subjection; and was thus happily
delivered from those stormy agitations and poignant regrets to which
those who are formed of more fiery materials are but too frequently
liable. Like most other men who have been remarkable for their
attainments in after-life, Heber was strongly addicted, while a boy,
to extensive miscellaneous reading. Guicciardini and Machiavelli were
among his early favourites. He admired the great Florentine historian
for his style, and with a freedom from prejudice which indicated
the purity of his mind, ventured to make the discovery, that this
much-calumniated advocate of freedom was a far better man than the
world was inclined to admit. At the same time his study of the sacred
Scriptures was incessant. Even while a child, the principal events
which they record were so firmly imprinted on his memory, that his
friends used to apply to him, when at a loss where to find the account
of any important transaction, or any remarkable passage.
In the year 1800 Heber was entered a student of Brazen Nose College,
Oxford, where he exhibited on all occasions the same high sense of
religion and primitive piety which had distinguished him in his
earlier years. His studies in the mean while were pursued with a
passionate ardour, particularly all those which were connected with
poetry, for the mind of Heber was eminently imaginative; and although
circumstances, which I know not whether to denominate fortunate or
unfortunate (since in either case he would, like the divine Founder of
his religion, have been employed in doing good), prevented him from
devoting himself to the study and building of the “lofty rhyme,” his
soul was yet a fountain, as it were, of poetry, which, if possible,
cast additional beauty and splendour on his faith. However, as I am
not, on the present occasion, engaged in viewing Heber as a poet, or
as a divine, it will not be necessary for me to enter minutely into a
description of his poetical or theological studies. His “Palestine,”
the principal contribution which he has made to our rich poetical
literature, was a juvenile performance, written before or soon after
he had completed his twentieth year; but the effect which it produced
on those who heard it recited in the theatre of the college was more
extraordinary, perhaps, than the bare reading of the poem would lead
one to conceive; though the judgment of those who then heard it has
since been confirmed by the public. “None,” says an able writer in
Blackwood’s Magazine, who heard Reginald Heber recite his ‘Palestine’
in that magnificent theatre, “will ever forget his appearance--so
interesting and impressive. It was known that his old father was
somewhere sitting among the crowded audience, when his universally
admired son ascended the rostrum; and we have heard that the sudden
thunder of applause which then arose so shook his frame, weak and
wasted by long illness, that he never recovered it, and may be said
to have died of the joy dearest to a parent’s heart. Reginald Heber’s
recitation, like that of all poets whom we have heard recite, was
altogether untrammelled by the critical laws of elocution, which were
not set at defiance, but either by the poet unknown or forgotten; and
there was a charm in his somewhat melancholy voice, that occasionally
faltered, less from a feeling of the solemnity and even grandeur of
the scene, of which he was himself the conspicuous object--though that
feeling did suffuse his pale, ingenuous, and animated countenance--than
from the deeply-felt sanctity of his subject, comprehending the most
awful mysteries of God’s revelations to man. As his voice grew bolder
and more sonorous in the hush, the audience felt that this was not
the mere display of the skill and ingenuity of a clever youth, the
accidental triumph of an accomplished versifier over his compeers, in
the dexterity of scholarship, which is all that can generally be truly
said of such exhibitions; but that here was a poet indeed, not only of
bright promise, but of high achievement; one whose name was already
written in the roll of the immortals. And that feeling, whatever might
have been the share of the boundless enthusiasm with which the poem was
listened to, attributable to the influence of the ‘genius loci,’ has
been since sanctioned by the judgment of the world, that has placed
‘Palestine’ at the very head of the poetry on divine subjects of this
age. It is now incorporated for ever with the poetry of England.”
In this eloquent tribute to the memory of Heber there appears to be but
one error; it is that which attributes the death of Reginald’s father
to the influence of excessive joy on a frame debilitated by illness; a
report which we are assured by the widow of our traveller was wholly
without foundation. During the same year, Napoleon conceived the insane
design of invading England; and thus roused in the ardent breasts of
our countrymen a fierce spirit of resistance, which affected even the
peaceful college student, who, to use the familiar expression of Heber
in describing himself thus engaged, “fagged and drilled by turns.”
Neither Napoleon nor his army, however, had been doomed by Providence
to lay their bones in English clay, as, had the invasion taken place,
they must have done; and our traveller’s military enthusiasm was
quickly suffered to cool.
Early in the year 1804, Heber sustained one of the heaviest calamities
which men can experience on this side of the grave--the loss of a
father; which he bore with that deep but meek sorrow which a youth full
of religious hope and untiring resignation to the will of Providence
might be naturally expected to feel. In the autumn of the same year he
was elected a fellow of All Souls; shortly after which his academical
career terminated, and he exchanged the mimic world of the university
for that far more arduous scene where many an academical star has grown
dim, though Heber, with the happy fortune which usually attends the
virtuous, continued even in the great theatre of the world to command
the approval and admiration of mankind.
About the middle of the year 1805, he accompanied his early friend,
Mr. John Thornton, whose virtues would appear to have been akin to his
own, on a tour through the north of Europe. They proceeded by sea
to Gottenburg in Sweden, where they experienced the effect of that
strangeness and novelty, which is felt once by all persons who travel
in a foreign country, but which can never, by any possibility, visit
the mind a second time. Here they purchased a carriage, and proceeded
through the wildest and most sublime scenery, interspersed with meadows
and corn-fields, on a tour among the mountains of Norway. At intervals,
dispersed over craggy, desolate heaths, immense numbers of cairns and
Runic columns were discovered,--which, with pine forests of sombre hue,
large bays of the sea nearly land-locked, and appearing like so many
lakes; cascades, rocks, cloud-capped mountains,--produced a series
of impressions upon the mind, characterized by so high a degree of
solemn grandeur, that even the vast solitudes of the Brenner Alps or
Wetterhorn could scarcely inspire a deeper sense of sublimity. Amid
those wild landscapes the natives amused themselves with wolf-hunting
on sledges, during the winter; but their ferocious game sometimes come
out in such multitudes from the woods, that even the most skilled
huntsmen were in danger.
At Munkholm, or Monk’s Island, called the Bastille du Nord, Heber saw,
among other prisoners, a very old man, who had been confined there
for above fifty years, and had lost in a great measure the use of his
faculties; they were much moved by his appearance, and the answers
which he gave. On being asked how old he was, he answered three hundred
years. His crime was variously reported: some said he was sent there by
his relations for violent behaviour to his father; others as being a
spend-thrift; and M. Leganger said, as being mad. A pretty government
this, where a man is shut up for his whole life, and three or four
different reasons given for his imprisonment, all equally uncertain!
In Norway, as well as in some parts of Hadramaut and the Coromandel
coast, the cattle are fed upon the refuse of fish, which fattens them
rapidly, but seems, at the same time, totally to change their nature,
and render them unmanageably ferocious.
Heber’s stay in Norway was short. He had the talent to describe
whatever was presented to his view, but his mild and gentle nature
inspired him with no sympathy for the craggy, barren, desolate scenery
of the Norwegian mountains; and he appears to have hastened his return
to the abodes of civilization from an instinctive perception of this
fact. Upon passing from Norway into Sweden, they spent some time at
Upsala and the capital; from whence they crossed the Gulf of Bothnia in
a fishing-boat, to Abo, in Finland. From hence, however, as it seems to
have contained nothing worth seeing, they proceeded with all possible
celerity, the approved English mode of travelling, to Petersburg.
Notwithstanding the rapidity of their movements, they found time to
make one discovery, which, as it is the echo of what most travellers
repeat of the countries they visit, I insert for the honour of the
Finns and Russians: “In one point,” says he, “both the Finlanders and
Russians are unfortunately agreed, I mean in the proverbial knavery of
the lower classes. In Sweden every thing was secure from theft, and our
carriage, with its harness, cushions, &c., stood every night untouched
in the open street. But we soon found how very inferior the Sclavonian
race is to the Gothic in honesty, and were obliged to keep a constant
watch. I cannot account for this apparently generic difference. If the
Russians only had been thieves I should have called it the effects of
the slavery of the peasants, but Swedish Finland is just as bad, and
the peasants are as free as in England.”
Our travellers remained at St. Petersburg until the 30th of December,
amusing themselves with learning the German language, and in seeing
sights, and then departed for Moscow, travelling at the same
prodigious rate as when they fled thither from Abo. “Our mode of
travelling,” says Heber, “deserves describing, both as very comfortable
in itself, and as being entirely different from every thing in England.
We performed the journey in kabitkas, the carriages usually employed
by the Russians in their winter journeys: they are nothing more than a
very large cradle, well covered with leather, and placed on a sledge,
with a leather curtain in front; the luggage is placed at the bottom,
the portmanteaus serving for an occasional seat, and the whole covered
with a mattress, on which one or more persons can lie at full length,
or sit supported by pillows. In this attitude, and well wrapped up in
furs, one can scarcely conceive a more luxurious mode of getting over a
country, when the roads are good, and the weather not intense; but in
twenty-four or twenty-five degrees of frost (Reaumur), no wrapping can
keep you quite warm; and in bad roads, of which we have had some little
experience, the jolting is only equalled by the motion of a ship in a
storm.”
From Moscow, where they arrived on the 3d of January, 1806, they
shortly afterward made an excursion eastward to Yaroslav, on the banks
of the Volga, during which Heber made the remarkable discovery that
the Russian clergy almost universally were inimical to the government;
being more connected than most other classes of men with the peasants,
many of whose sufferings and oppressions they shared. They witnessed at
Yaroslav a wolf-hunt on the frozen Volga. It should rather, however,
be termed a “wolf-baiting;” for the animals, which had been previously
caught for the purpose, were at once set upon by a number of dogs,
and beaten almost blind by the long whips of savages, whom I cannot
term hunters. A couple of hares were likewise chased upon the ice by
Siberian greyhounds, very beautiful creatures, with silky hair and a
fan tail, which, though less swift, were said to be more hardy than our
greyhounds.
Heber, somewhat dazzled, as was natural, by the gorgeous taste of
the Muscovites, seems to have been highly gratified by the reception
which he and his fellow-traveller experienced at the ancient capital
of the empire: “The eastern retinues and luxuries,” says he, “which
one meets with here are almost beyond belief. There are few English
countesses have so many pearls in their possession as I have seen in
the streets in the cap of a merchant’s wife. At a ball in the ancient
costume, which was given by M. Nedilensky (secretary of state to the
late empress, whose family we have found the most agreeable in Moscow),
the ladies all wore caps entirely of pearls, and the blaze of diamonds
on their _saraphaus_ (the ancient Russian tunic) would have outshone,
I think, St. James’s. The pearl bonnet is not a becoming dress, as
it makes its wearer look very pale, a fault which some ladies had
evidently been endeavouring to obviate.” The heads which were thus
gaudily garnished on the outside were generally exceedingly empty, as
may safely be inferred from the degree of information possessed by
their fathers, husbands, and brothers; so that the comparison with
English ladies, in whom beauty and intelligence usually go hand in
hand, could, I imagine, be carried no further.
Upon leaving Moscow about the middle of March, our traveller proceeded
southward through the Ukraine, the country of the Cossacks, at Charkof,
the capital of which, a university had recently been established. The
professors of this establishment, who were all very handsomely paid,
presented a motley assemblage of Russians, Germans, and Frenchmen,
nearly every individual of which was big with some new scheme of
teaching or college government; but this ludicrous appearance would
wear off in time, while the benefit conferred on the people would
be extensive and permanent. From hence they hurried on, for they
were still rapid in their motions, to Taganroy, or the “Cape of the
Teakettle,” so called from the form of the rock on which the fortress
stands; and from thence to Nakitchivan on the Don. “This town,” says
Heber, “is a singular mixture of Cossack houses and the black felt
tents of the Kalmucs, all fishermen, and with their habitations almost
thrust into the river. From the windows of the public-house where I am
writing, the view is very singular and pleasing. The moon is risen, and
throws a broad glare of light over the Don, which is here so widely
overflowed that the opposite bank is scarcely visible; the foreground
is a steep limestone hill covered with cottages and circular tents; and
we hear on every side the mingled characteristic sounds of the singing
of the boatmen on the river, the barking of the large ferocious Kalmuc
dogs, which in all these countries are suffered to prowl about during
the night, blended with the low monotonous chant of the Cossack women,
who are enjoying the fine evening, and dancing in a large circle in the
streets.”
Tcherkask, their next station, which in spring was mostly under water,
seemed in some degree to resemble Venice. It was, in the opinion of
our travellers, one of the most singular towns in the world, where, in
the season of the inundation, the communication between one house and
another was preserved by a kind of balcony or gallery, raised on wooden
pillars, and running along the streets on both sides. From hence they
continued their journey along the banks of the Kuban and the frontiers
of Circassia, having in view the wild range of the Caucasus, with vast
forests of oak at its roots. The population of these districts, fierce
marauding mountaineers, beheld with regret the efforts which were
making by the Russian government to wean them from their sanguinary
habits. Their whole delight consisted in bloodshed and plunder. But
their frays had gradually become less and less frequent: “Formerly,”
said their guide, “we were ourselves a terror to our neighbours--but
we are now,” added he with a sigh--“a civilized people!” “The land on
the Russian side of the river (Kuban),” says Heber, “is but scantily
wooded; on the southern side it rises in a magnificent theatre of oak
woods, interspersed with cultivated ground, and the smoke of villages,
with the ridges of Caucasus above the whole. The nearest hills are by
no means gigantic; but there are some white peaks which rise at a vast
distance, and which proved to us that these were only the first story
of the mountain.”
Our travellers now traversed the Crimea, and proceeded across a stepp
intersected by numerous streams, inlets of the sea, and some large
salt-water lakes, to Odessa, an interesting town, which in the opinion
of Heber owed its prosperity to the administration of the Duc de
Richelieu far more than to any natural advantages. Their route now lay
across Russian Poland, Hungary, Austria, and Northern Germany. They
arrived at Yarmouth on the 14th of October, 1806, and Heber immediately
set forward to join the family circle at Hodnet, where he enjoyed the
satisfaction which every wanderer feels when returning, after a long
and toilsome journey, to his native home.
In the year 1807 Heber took orders, and obtained the living of Hodnet,
in Shropshire, which was in his brother’s gift; he then returned to
Oxford for the purpose of taking his degree as master of arts. It
will readily be supposed that he, whose piety was truly apostolical,
even while in a secular station, now that he had assumed the habit of
a Christian minister, became doubly anxious to render not only his
conduct, but the very thoughts of his mind, pure as became his holy
calling. The church has in no age been destitute of teachers remarkable
for their virtue and benevolence; but even among preachers of the
gospel it is not often that a man so gifted as Heber with genius,
with enlarged knowledge of mankind, with almost boundless charity and
benevolence, can be found, the perusal of whose life must create in
the reader as well as in me the vain wish that we had numbered him
among our friends. Yet Heber was far from being an ascetic. Like all
men of high imaginative powers who have never suffered vice to brush
away the down from their nobler feelings, he had a bold faith in the
enduring nature of affection, and spoke of love, not like a pert
worldling, whom no excellence could kindle, but like a philosopher,
aware of the prejudices of the vulgar, but far above being swayed by
them. “To speak, however, my serious opinion,” says he, in a letter to
a friend, “I believe that were it possible for a well-founded passion
to wear out, the very recollection of it would be more valuable than
the greatest happiness afforded by those calm and vulgar kindnesses
which chiefly proceed from knowing no great harm of one another. You
remember Shenstone’s epitaph on Miss Dolman: _Vale, Maria, Puellarum
Elegantissima, heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui
meminisse._ I am not sure how long that romance of passion may continue
which the world shows such anxiety to wean us of as soon as possible,
and which it laughs at because it envies; but, end when it may, it
is never lost, but will contribute, like fermentation, to make the
remainder of the cup of happiness more pleasant and wholesome.”
In the April of 1809 Heber married Amelia, youngest daughter of Dr.
Shipley, dean of St. Asaph. On this occasion he undertook an excursion
in Wales, the beauties of which, notwithstanding the variety of scenes
he had beheld, he seemed to consider equal to those of any country
in the world. He then settled on his rectory, and employed himself
earnestly in diffusing among his parishioners a proper sense of
religion, and habits of piety and virtue. “He became, indeed,” says
his excellent widow, “their earthly guide, their pastor, and friend.
His ear was never shut to their complaints, nor his hands closed to
their wants. Instead of hiding his face from the poor, he sought out
distress; he made it a rule, from which no circumstances induced him
to swerve, to ‘give to all who asked,’ however trifling the sum; and
wherever he had an opportunity, he never failed to inquire into, and
more effectually to relieve their distress. He could not pass a sick
person, or a child crying, without endeavouring to sooth and help
them; and the kindness of his manner always rendered his gifts doubly
valuable.”
Heber, whose leisure, however, was not considerable, was now led,
by a praiseworthy literary ambition, to become a contributor to the
Quarterly Review, where many of the excellent critiques on books of
travels which appeared about that period were of his writing. Having
himself travelled, he knew how to appreciate the historian of foreign
manners, while the high tone of his Christian virtues emancipated him
from that mean jealousy with which little minds are inspired by the
success of a rival. He was, moreover, admirably calculated by the
extent and variety of his reading, in which perhaps, he was scarcely
excelled even by Dr. Southey or Sir Walter Scott, for determining the
amount of information which any particular observer added to the common
stock; without which no critic, however able or acute, can possibly
judge with accuracy of the merits of a traveller. The Castalian rill,
which Providence had intrusted to our traveller’s keeping, was not,
in the mean while, permitted to stagnate. Various poems, of different
character and pretensions, he from time to time composed, and submitted
to the world; and in 1812 published a collected edition of all his
poetical works. In the same year he was afflicted by a severe and
somewhat protracted illness. Indeed, he continued through life,
observes Mrs. Heber, subject to inflammatory attacks, though rigid
temperance and exercise enabled him to pursue his studies without
inconvenience. He was an early riser, and having performed his daily
devotions, devoted the larger portion of the day to literature; from
which, nevertheless, he was ready to separate himself at the call of
duty.
I have before observed that Heber’s character was by no means morose
or ascetic; he was full of vivacity, good-humour, wit, and no enemy
to amusements; but he conceived that on Sunday it was the Christian’s
duty to abstain as far as possible from every species of business. An
anecdote illustrative of this point, which is related by Mrs. Heber,
is well worth repeating: As Mr. Reginald Heber was riding one Sunday
morning to preach at Moreton, his horse cast a shoe. Seeing the village
blacksmith standing at the door of his forge, he requested him to
replace it. The man immediately set about blowing up the embers of his
Saturday night’s fire, on seeing which, he said, “On second thoughts,
John, it does not signify; I can walk my mare; it will not lame her,
and I do not like to disturb your day of rest.”
In 1815 he was appointed Bampton lecturer. His subject was necessarily
theological, so that it is not within my competence to decide
respecting the merit of his mode of treating it; but notwithstanding
that it excited the opposition of one antagonist, who called in
question his orthodoxy, the lectures appear, when published, to have
been generally approved of by the clergy, the legitimate judges in
such matters. Two years after this he was promoted to a stall in the
cathedral of St. Asaph, an appointment which led to many journeys into
Wales, during which he yielded up his mind to the delight of poetical
composition. In the midst of these and similar enjoyments, which, to
a mind so purely and beautifully constituted as his, must have been
secondary only to those arising from the exercise of virtue, Heber
underwent the affliction of losing at a very early age his only child.
This bereavement, however, severely as it affected his heart, he
submitted to with that religious resignation which his character would
have led us to expect from him.
Our traveller himself appeared, in the spring of 1820, in extreme
danger of being snatched away from the world. By constantly attending
in the chambers of the sick, during the prevalence of putrid
sore-throat in his neighbourhood, he caught this dangerous disorder,
which from himself was communicated to seven members of his household,
to none of whom, however, did it prove fatal. In the autumn of the same
year he paid a visit to Oxford, “when,” says Mrs. Heber, “he had the
gratification of hearing ‘Palestine’ performed as an oratorio in the
same theatre, where, seventeen years before, he had recited it to an
equally, or perhaps a more crowded audience than was then assembled.
To the eye the scene was the same, but its component parts were widely
different. Of the relations who were present at the former period, some
had paid the debt of nature; the greater number of his contemporaries
were scattered abroad in the pursuit of their respective professions;
new faces occupied the arena.”
About the close of the year 1822 Heber received, through his friend,
the Right Honourable Watkins Williams Wynn, the offer of the bishopric
of Calcutta. Our traveller had long viewed with deep interest the
progress of Christianity in the East, and the prospect opened to him
by this offer, of contributing by his own zeal and exertions to the
success of so holy a cause, seems quickly to have outweighed in his
mind every consideration of personal interest, and to have determined
him, at all hazards, to accept of that distinguished but dangerous
post. The conduct of Mr. Wynn on this occasion, his ardent desire that
India should not be deprived of the services of so good, so great a
man (for virtue like Heber’s is true greatness), while he was scarcely
less unwilling to lose, certainly for a considerable time, if not, as
it happened, for ever, a friend of incomparable value, reflects the
highest honour on his heart and character. “The king,” said he, “has
returned his _entire_ approbation of your appointment to Calcutta, and
if I could only divide you, so as to leave one in England and send the
other to India, it would also have mine; but the die is now cast, and
we must not look on any side but that which stands uppermost.” To this
Heber replied, “For this last, as well as for all former proofs of your
kindness, accept my best thanks. God grant that my conduct in India may
be such as not to do your recommendation discredit, or make you repent
the flattering confidence which you have placed in me.”
When Heber’s intention of leaving England was made known, he received
from every quarter those warm voluntary testimonies of affection and
regret which nothing but virtue, distinguished, persevering, exalted,
can command. His own parishioners, as was natural, were the foremost
in their demonstrations of their profound esteem. Rich, poor, old, and
young--all joined in presenting their exemplary pastor with a lasting
mark of the veneration in which his character was held among them.
“Almost the last business,” says Mrs. Heber, “which Dr. Heber (he had
recently been created D.D. by the University of Oxford) transacted
before he left Shropshire was settling a long-standing account,
in which he had been charged as debtor to the amount of a hundred
pounds; but it was believed by those who were best acquainted with
the circumstances, that he was not bound either in law or probity to
pay it. As he himself, however, did not feel certain on this point,
he resolved to pay the money, observing to a friend who endeavoured
to dissuade him, ‘How can I reasonably hope for a blessing on my
undertaking, or how can I commence so long a voyage with a quiet
conscience, if I leave even the shadow of a committed act of injustice
behind?’ About the same time an unknown person sent him a small sum of
money through the hands of a clergyman in Shrewsbury, confessing that
he had defrauded him of it, and stating that he could not endure to see
him leave England for such objects without relieving his own conscience
by making restitution. On the 22d of April, 1823,” she continues, “Dr.
Heber finally took leave of Shropshire: from a range of high grounds
near Newport, he turned back to catch a last view of his beloved
Hodnet; and here the feelings which he had hitherto suppressed in
tenderness to others burst forth unrestrained, and he uttered the words
which have proved prophetic, that he ‘should return to it no more!’”
Heber, having made all necessary preparations for his long voyage,
and received consecration, repaired on the 16th of June on board the
Company’s ship Grenville, in which he and his family were to proceed
to India. As our traveller’s first desire, in whatever position he
happened to be placed, was to effect all the good in his power, he no
sooner found himself on board than he endeavoured to communicate to
the sailors a sense of their religious duties; which he did with all
that authority and effect which genius and virtue invariably exert over
inferior individuals. His exhortations were listened to attentively and
respectfully; and there can be no doubt produced, in many instances
at least, conviction and amendment of life. The influence which the
majestic simplicity of his character enabled him to exercise over his
rude audience may in some measure be conceived from the following
anecdote: “We had divine service on deck this morning,” says he; “a
large shoal of dolphins were playing round the ship, and I thought
it right to interfere to check the harpoons and fishing-hooks of
some of the crew. I am not strict in my notions of what is called the
Christian Sabbath; but the wanton destruction of animal life seems to
be precisely one of those works by which the sanctity and charity of
our weekly feast would be profaned. The sailors took my reproof in good
part.” Such were his occupations until, on the 3d of October, the ship
safely anchored in Sangor roads, in the Hoogly, or great western branch
of the Ganges.
Heber was now arrived in the most extraordinary region, Greece and
Egypt perhaps excepted, which has ever been inhabited by mankind. And
he was well calculated by his high enthusiasm, extensive learning,
and remarkable freedom from prejudice, to conceive all the splendour
of the scene before him, to enter profoundly into the spirit of its
institutions, and to describe with graceful and simple eloquence the
picturesque variety of manners which the natives of this vast empire
present to the contemplation of a stranger. “Two observations struck
me forcibly,” says he; “first, that the deep bronze tint (observable
in the Hindoos) is more naturally agreeable to the human eye than the
fair skins of Europe, since we are not displeased with it even in the
first instance, while it is well known that to them a fair complexion
gives the idea of ill health, and of that sort of deformity which in
our eyes belongs to an Albino. There is, indeed, something in a negro
which requires long habit to reconcile the eye to him; but for this
the features and the hair, far more than the colour, are answerable.
The second observation was, how entirely the idea of indelicacy, which
would naturally belong to such naked figures as those now around us,
if they were white, is prevented by their being of a different colour
from ourselves. So much are we children of association and habit, and
so instinctively and immediately do our feelings adapt themselves to
a total change of circumstances! It is the partial and inconsistent
change only which affects us.”
They now entered the mighty Ganges, and sailing up towards Calcutta
through the Sunderbunds, or rather along their western limit, beheld
their dark impenetrable forests stretching away interminably towards
the right, while a rich vegetable fragrance was wafted from the shore.
The current of the river, when increased by the ebb-tide, was found
as they ascended to be tremendously rapid, running at no less a rate,
according to their pilot, than ten or eleven miles an hour. On arriving
at Calcutta, Heber found that the ecclesiastical business of his
bishopric, at all times multiplex and extensive, had now, since the
death of Dr. Middleton, accumulated prodigiously; so that, although
he had come out neither with the expectation nor the wish to find his
place a sinecure, he felt somewhat alarmed at the laborious prospect
before him. However, he was a man accustomed to labour, and not easily
discouraged. He therefore diligently applied himself to business, and
had soon the satisfaction to find that, notwithstanding the formidable
appearance of things on his first arrival, it was still possible, after
fully performing his duty, which no consideration could induce him
to neglect, to command sufficient leisure for studying whatever was
curious or striking in the natural or moral aspect of Hindostan. Former
travellers, he now found, were, notwithstanding their numbers, very
far from having exhausted the subject, either because the phenomena of
Asiatic manners are, like those of the heavens, in a state of perpetual
change, or because these, continuing the same, which however they do
not, appear under various phases to different men, from being viewed by
each individual from the peculiar point of observation afforded by his
character and acquirements.
In the course of seven months, Heber had achieved that portion of
his task which was to be performed in the capital. Next to this
in importance was his visitation through the Upper Provinces, an
expedition in which he had hoped to be accompanied by his family;
but this being rendered impracticable by the delicate health of his
wife, and the tender age of his infant child, he departed with his
domestic chaplain, Mr. Stowe, in a sixteen-oared pinnace, for Dacca.
The shores of the Ganges, though flat almost throughout Bengal, are
far from wanting in stately or picturesque objects. Lofty pagodas,
with their fantastic angular domes, towering over forests of bamboos,
banyans, and cocoa-trees; ruins of Mussulman palaces; wild tracts of
jungle inhabited by tigers; groves of peepul or tamarind-trees; with
Hindoo villages or hamlets, perched upon artificial mounds to escape
the periodical inundations of the river. But no scene is possessed of
all advantages. There is always some small drawback, to afford man an
excuse for enjoying the delicious pleasure of complaining. “One of the
greatest plagues we have yet met with in this journey,” says Heber, “is
that of the winged bugs. In shape, size, and scent, with the additional
faculty of flying, they resemble the ‘grabbatic’ genus, too well
known in England. The night of our lying off Barrackpoor, they were
troublesome; but when we were off the rajah’s palace, they came out,
like the ghosts of his ancestor’s armies, in hundreds and thousands
from every bush and every heap of ruins, and so filled our cabins as
to make them barely endurable. These unhappy animals crowded round our
candles in such swarms, some just burning their feet and wings on the
edge of the glass shade, and thus toppling over, others, more bold,
flying right into the crater, and meeting their death there, that we
really paid no attention to what was next day a ghastly spectacle,--the
mighty army which had settled on the wet paint of the ceiling, and
remained there, black and stinking, till the ants devoured them. These
last swarm in my pinnace: they have eaten up no inconsiderable portion
of my provisions, and have taken, I trust to their benefit, a whole
box of blue pills; but as they do their best to clear it of all other
vermin, I cannot but look upon them with some degree of favour.”
A gentleman travelling as Heber travelled in India is likely to meet
with few personal adventures. He runs no risk, except from the climate,
and moves on smoothly from one station to another, in that state of
tranquillity which is useful, if not necessary, to calm, dispassionate
observation. Thus our traveller sailed from Calcutta to Dacca, once
renowned for the spaciousness and splendour of its palaces, but now
ruined, deserted, and reduced to be the haunt of bats, serpents, and
every loathsome thing. Here, in an interview with the nawâb, who, like
his imperial master of Delhi, has long been reduced to subsist upon the
bounty of the Company, Heber exhibited that delicate regard for the
feelings of a man,
Fallen from his high estate,
which a careful observation of his previous life would have led us to
expect from him. Here he had the misfortune to lose Mr. Stowe, his
domestic chaplain, who, by his many excellent and amiable qualities,
had long occupied the place of a friend in his affections.
From Dacca, where his stay was much longer than he had anticipated, he
proceeded up the river. Furreedpoor, his next station, did not long
detain him. Near Rajmahal he approached, but did not visit, the ruins
of Gour, an ancient city, which almost rivalled Babylon or Nineveh
in extent, and which fell to decay, because the Ganges, which once
flowed under its walls, changed its bed, and took another direction,
six or seven miles south of the city. However, on arriving next day
at the town of Rajmahal, to make up in some measure for this loss,
he undertook a short excursion to the ruined palace of Sultan Sujah,
brother of Araungzêbe. “I was a little at a loss,” says he, “to find
my way through the ruins and young jungle, when a man came up, and
in Persian, with many low bows, offered his services. He led me into
a sort of second court, a little lower on the hill, where I saw two
European tombs, and then to three very beautiful arches of black slate,
on pillars of the same, leading into a small but singularly elegant
hall, opening immediately on the river, though a considerable height
above it, through similar arches to those by which we entered. The
roof was vaulted with stone, delicately carved, and the walls divided
by Gothic tracery into panels, still retaining traces of gilding
and Arabic inscriptions. At each end of this beautiful room was a
Gothic arch, in like manner of slate, leading into two small square
apartments, ornamented in the same way, and also opening on the river.
The centre room might be thirty feet long, each of the others fifteen
square. For their size I cannot conceive more delightful apartments.
The view was very fine. The river, as if incensed at having been
obliged to make a circuit round the barrier of the hills, and impeded
here again by the rocks under the castle, sweeps round this corner with
exceeding violence, roaring and foaming like a gigantic Dee. The range
of hills runs to the left-hand, beautiful, blue, and woody.”
From thence he proceeded, as before, up the Ganges, observing whatever
was remarkable, making a short stay at each of the European stations on
his way, for the purpose of preaching or baptizing, and arrived on the
20th of August at Patna. At this city, which is extensive, and situated
in a commanding position, he remained several days, for the purpose
of preaching and administering confirmation. He then continued his
voyage to Ghazeepoor, famous for its rose-gardens and salubrious air.
“The rose-fields, which occupy many hundred acres in the neighbourhood,
are described as, at the proper season, extremely beautiful. They are
cultivated for distillation, and for making ‘attar.’ Rose-water is both
good and cheap here. The price of a seer, or weight of two pounds (a
large quart), of the best, being eight anas, or a shilling. The attar
is obtained after the rose-water is made, by setting it out during the
night and till sunrise in the morning, in large open vessels exposed to
the air, and then skimming off the essential oil which floats at the
top.” “To produce one rupee’s weight of attar, two hundred thousand
well-grown roses are required.” This small quantity, when warranted
genuine, for they begin to adulterate it on the spot, costs one hundred
sicca rupees, or ten pounds sterling.
A short way farther up the stream, Heber quitted his pinnace, and
providing himself with bearers, continued his journey to Benares by
land. Of Benares I have already given a brief description in the Life
of Bernier. Heber’s stay in it was short. He visited with attention its
principal curiosities, and conversed on several points with some of
its Brahminical professors, whose belief in Hindooism he regarded as
very equivocal. He then continued his voyage up the river to Allahabad,
where he dismissed his pinnace, and made the necessary preparations for
performing the remainder of his journey by land. Archdeacon Corrie,
who had accompanied him from Calcutta, and Mr. Lushington, whom he
joined on the way, were now his travelling companions, and with their
attendants helped to increase his motley caravan, which consisted
of twenty-four camels, eight carts drawn by bullocks, twenty-four
horse-servants, ten ponies, forty bearers, and coolies of different
descriptions, twelve tent-pitchers, and a guard of twenty sepoys
under a native officer. With this retinue, which in the eyes of a
European would have had something of a princely air, Heber proceeded
by the way of Cawnpoor to Lucknow, the capital of the kingdom of Oude,
where he enjoyed the honour of breakfasting with the monarch of this
ill-governed state, who, on this occasion at least, appeared desirous
of imitating the manners of the English.
At Lucknow Heber separated from his companions; and, accompanied merely
by his attendants, directed his course towards the wild districts at
the foot of the Himalaya. On arriving at Barelly, not more than fifty
miles distant from the nearest range, he vainly looked out for the
snowy peaks of this “monarch of mountains;” but, instead, discovered
nothing but a ridge of black clouds, and a gray autumnal haze through
which no object was discernible. The features of the country now became
wild and striking. Forests infested by malaria, tigers, and lions,
and half-desolate plains, announced the termination of the fertile
provinces of Hindostan, and the approach to a different region. Here
“we had,” says Heber, “a first view of the range of the Himalaya,[4]
indistinctly seen through the haze, but not so indistinctly as to
conceal the general form of the mountains. The nearer hills are blue,
and in outline and tints resemble pretty closely, at this distance,
those which close in the vale of Clwyd. Above these rose what might,
in the present unfavourable atmosphere, have been taken for clouds,
had not their seat been so stationary, and their outline so harsh and
pyramidical--the patriarchs of the continent, perhaps the surviving
ruins of a former world, white and glistening as alabaster, and even at
this distance, of probably one hundred and fifty miles, towering above
the nearer and secondary range, as much as those last (though said to
be seven thousand six hundred feet high) are above the plain in which
we were standing. I felt intense delight and awe in looking on them,
but the pleasure lasted not many minutes; the clouds closed in again,
as on the fairy castle of St. John, and left us but the former gray
cold horizon, girding in the green plain of Rohiland, and broken only
by people and mango-trees.”
[4] The Himalaya mountains have been said, by some other travellers,
to be visible, in clear weather, from Patna, a distance of two
hundred miles. The fact appears to be by no means improbable. From
the window of the library in which these pages are written, the snowy
mountains of Switzerland and Savoy--Mont Blanc, the Great and Little
St. Bernard, and the peaks of St. Corvin and St. Gothard--are almost
constantly visible during the prevalence of the south-west wind. From
the appearance of these mountains a tolerable idea may be formed of the
aspect of the Himalaya. During summer thin vapours commonly obstruct
the view, except in the early dawn; and if, as sometimes happens, the
white peaks appear in the afternoon, when the sun’s rays are streaming
upon them from the west, they are generally, by the unpractised
observer, mistaken for clouds. But in the cool autumnal mornings just
before the sun rises above the horizon, Mont Blanc, though one hundred
and twenty-five miles distant, is painted with astonishing distinctness
upon the sky, and towering above the sea of white vapour which
overspreads the great plain of Burgundy and rises almost to the summit
of the Jura, seems but a few leagues distant. A little before sunset it
presents a totally different aspect. Instead of the dusky mass which we
beheld in the morning, we discover the “monarch of mountains” clothed
in dazzling white, rising far above every surrounding object; while the
glittering pinnacles of the inferior mountains seem to stretch away
interminably to the right and left, until their peaks are confounded
and lost in the dimness of the horizon. The Mont St. Gothard, which is
very distinctly visible, at least during clear weather, is distant one
hundred and seventy miles from the point of observation. With respect
to Mont Blanc, its whole aspect, when viewed through a good telescope,
is so admirably defined, that every inequality in its surface is
clearly discernible, so that an excellent sketch of it might be taken
from my library. The dark chain of the Jura, which conceals its base,
and stretches from Geneva almost to the Rhine, increases by contrast
the magnificence of the view, which, for extent and grandeur, falls
very little short, perhaps, of any landscape in Europe.
Next day, soon after sunrise, he saw distinctly, painted on a clear
blue sky, the prodigiously lofty pinnacles of these mountains, the
centre of earth,
Its altar, and its cradle, and its throne,
which, as he justly observes, “are really among the greatest earthly
works of the Almighty Creator’s hands--the highest spots below the
moon--and overtopping by many hundred feet the summits of Cotopaxi and
Chimborazo.” To approach these mountains, however, from the south, the
traveller has to traverse a belt of forest and jungle, where the air
is impregnated with the most deadly qualities. “I asked Mr. Boulderson
if it were true,” says Heber, “that the monkeys forsook these woods
during the unwholesome months. He answered that not the monkeys only,
but every thing which has the breath of life instinctively deserts
them, from the beginning of April to October. The tigers go up to the
hills, the antelopes and wild hogs make incursions into the cultivated
plain; and those persons, such as dâkbearers, or military officers
who are obliged to traverse the forests in the intervening months,
agree that not so much as a bird can be heard or seen in the frightful
solitude.” Yet the insalubrity of these districts is not of any ancient
date. Thirty years ago, though fever and ague were common, the plains
were populous and productive, and considerable progress was made in
reclaiming the forest; but the devastation consequent upon the invasion
of Meer Khan, in 1805, checked the course of population, which has
never since been able to recover itself.
Through this deadly region Heber passed with all possible rapidity,
though the majestic trees which bordered the road, the songs of the
birds in their branches (for it was now November), and the luxuriant
vegetation which on all sides covered the soil, conferred a kind of
syren beauty upon the scene, which tempted the wayfarer to a fatal
pause. At length, after a long, fatiguing march, they found themselves
upon rising ground, at the entrance to a green valley, with woody
mountains on either side, and a considerable river running through it,
dashing over a rocky bottom, with great noise and violence. The scenery
now put on features of surpassing beauty. Mountains, precipices,
narrow romantic dells; with rivers which were sometimes seen, and
sometimes only heard rolling at the bottom of them; trees inhabited by
innumerable white monkeys and singing birds, and copses abounding in
black and purple pheasants. When they had climbed up to a considerable
height upon the lower range of the mountains, there burst suddenly
upon their sight the most awfully magnificent spectacle which the
earth furnishes for the contemplation of man. Language always fails to
convey an adequate conception of the tumultuous delight experienced
in such positions. The mind, wrought upon by history, by poetry, by a
secret hungering after the sublime, instantaneously feels itself in the
presence of objects which, by their prodigious magnitude and elevation,
enhanced by an idea of their unapproachableness, seem for a moment
to surpass the most ambitious aspirations of the imagination, and in
reality carry our thoughts
Extra flammantia mænia mundi.
Our traveller, standing on the platform from whence the Indian Caucasus
can be most advantageously contemplated, beheld a range of snow-white
pinnacles, which, stretching like an interminable line of shining
spears from east to west, appeared with their glittering points to
pierce the deep blue sky, which formed the ground of this landscape of
unrivalled glory and splendour. At the foot of these mountains stands
Almorah, the last point of Heber’s journey in this direction; whence,
after a short stay, he again descended to the plain, and pursued his
route to Meerut, and thence to Delhi.
The imperial city, the ruins of which extend over a surface as large
as London, is still the residence of the descendants of the Mogul
sovereigns of India. The reader who remembers how superb it was when
visited by Bernier will learn with a melancholy regret that all its
grandeur and power have departed from it, leaving in their stead want,
wretchedness, decay, and disease. Heber was presented to the poor old
man who, as the descendant of Akbar, is still, as it were in mockery,
denominated “Emperor of Delhi.” Those who delight to triumph over
fallen greatness may purchase this pleasure by a journey to Delhi; for
myself, much as I abhor a tyrant, few remote scenes of distress, unless
such in which whole nations are sufferers, could touch me more sensibly
than the misfortunes of this Mogul prince, and I exclaim, with the
prophet, “How are the mighty fallen!” It is true they deserved their
fate--history in their, as in all other cases, justifies the ways of
Providence--but we therefore pity them the more; and, before we lift
up our hand to cast a stone at them, our heart involuntarily forms the
earnest wish that we may by our justice and equity deserve the diadem
which we have wrested from their brows. This consideration is the only
thing which can confer an interest on such a presentation. In every
other point of view it is, like every thing of the kind, a vulgar show,
which has no more meaning than a theatrical exhibition.
From Delhi Heber proceeded to the still more ancient capital of Agra,
where the principal objects of curiosity “are the Motee Musjeed, a
beautiful mosque of white marble, carved with exquisite simplicity
and elegance; and the palace built by Akbar, in a great degree of the
same material, and containing some noble rooms, now sadly disfigured
and destroyed by neglect, and by being used as warehouses, armories,
offices, and lodging-rooms for the garrison. The hall, now used as
the ‘Dewanny Aum,’ or public court of justice, is a splendid edifice,
supported by pillars and arches of white marble, as large and more
nobly simple than that of Delhi. The ornaments, carving, and mosaic of
the smaller apartments, in which was formerly the Zenanah, are equal
or superior to any thing which is described as found in the Alhambra.
The view from those rooms is very fine, at the same time that there
are some, adapted for the hot winds, from which light is carefully
excluded. This suite is lined with small mirrors in fantastic frames;
a cascade of water, also surrounded by mirrors, has been made to gush
from a recess at the upper end, and marble channels, beautifully inlaid
with cornelians, agates, and jasper, convey the stream to every side
of the apartment.” Heber likewise visited the Taj-mahal, which I have
described in the Life of Bernier, and observes, that after hearing its
praises ever since he had been in India, its beauty rather exceeded
than fell short of his expectations. After holding a confirmation,
at which about forty persons were made full members of the Christian
church, our traveller departed from Agra, and commenced his journey
across the independent states of Western India. During this portion of
his travels he obtained, from unexceptionable authority, an account
of the gorgeous style in which that fortunate adventurer, Sir David
Ochterlony, lived in Central India. “Dr. Smith,” he observes, “in his
late march from Mhow to Meerut, passed by Sir David’s camp. The ‘barra
sahib,’ or great man, was merely travelling with his own family and
personal followers from Delhi to Jyepoor, but his retinue, including
servants, escort, European and native aids-de-camp, and the various
nondescripts of an Asiatic train, together with the apparatus of
horses, elephants, and camels--the number of his tents, and the size
of the enclosure, hung round with red cloth, by which his own and his
daughter’s private tents were fenced in from the eyes of the profane,
were what a European, or even an old Indian whose experience had been
confined to Bengal, would scarcely be brought to credit.”
Our traveller’s journey through Rajpootana was attended by
circumstances flattering to his personal feelings. The petty
sovereigns through whose dominions his route lay invariably received
him hospitably when he visited their capitals, and on some occasions,
when he did not choose to diverge so far from the road, sent messengers
expressly to meet him on the way with polite invitations to their
court. He pushed on, however, with considerable expedition, and
having traversed the territories, and beheld the capitals of Jyepoor,
Ajmere, Bunaira, and others, proceeded, by way of Neemuch and Baroda,
to Bombay. His time, during his stay in this city, was principally
occupied with ecclesiastical business, in promoting the founding
of schools, and in conversing with that venerable statesman and
traveller, Mr. Elphinstone, the governor, who, from the most humane and
enlightened motives, has endeavoured, with success, to diffuse among
the natives a knowledge of our literature and sciences. Here Heber had
the satisfaction of being joined by his wife and elder child. With
these, shortly afterward, he visited the cavern temples of Elephanta
and Kennery; and subsequently, in company with Archdeacon Barnes,
made an excursion across the Western Ghants to Poonah, in the Deccan,
during which he enjoyed an opportunity of examining another celebrated
cavern temple at Carlee. I cannot refuse myself the pleasure, or
deprive the reader of the advantage, of inserting in this place the
character which Heber has drawn of the most extraordinary man whom he
encountered during his travels. “Mr. Elphinstone,” says he, “is in
every respect an extraordinary man, possessing great activity of body
and mind; remarkable talent for and application to public business; a
love of literature, and a degree of almost universal information, such
as I have met with in no other person similarly situated, and manners
and conversation of the most amiable and interesting character. While
he has seen more of India and the adjoining countries than any man
now living, and has been engaged in active political and sometimes
military duties since the age of eighteen, he has found time, not only
to cultivate the languages of Hindostan and Persia, but to preserve
and extend his acquaintance with the Greek and Latin classics, with
the French and Italian, with all the elder and more distinguished
English writers, and with the current and popular literature of the
day, both in poetry, history, politics, and political economy. With
these remarkable accomplishments, and notwithstanding a temperance
amounting to rigid abstinence, he is fond of society; and it is a
common subject of surprise with his friends, at what hour of the day or
night he found time for the acquisition of knowledge. His policy, so
far as India is concerned, appeared to me peculiarly wise and liberal,
and he is evidently attached to, and thinks well of, the country and
its inhabitants. His public measures, in their general tendency, evince
a steady wish to improve their present condition. No government in
India pays so much attention to schools and public institutions for
education. In none are the taxes lighter; and in the administration of
justice to the natives in their own languages, in the establishment of
punchacts, in the degree in which he employs the natives in official
situations, and the countenance and familiarity which he extends to
all the natives of rank who approach him, he seems to have reduced to
practice almost all the reforms which had struck me as most required
in the system of government pursued in those provinces of our eastern
empire which I had previously visited.”
From Bombay, Heber sailed with his wife and daughter to Ceylon, a large
portion of which he visited. He then proceeded to Calcutta. On the 30th
of January, 1826, shortly after his recovery from a fever, he again
quitted his family for the purpose of visiting Madras and the southern
provinces of India. At Madras he was received with great kindness by
Sir Thomas Munro, who was warmly desirous of rendering his position
as little disagreeable as the season and climate would permit. From
thence he proceeded through Caddalore and Tanjore to Trichinopoly,
where, on the 3d of April, 1826, his pious, active, and valuable life
was closed. “It were a useless,” says Mrs. Heber, “and a deeply painful
task to enter into any detail of the apparent cause of his death: it is
sufficient to say that disease had, unsuspected, been existing for some
time; and that it was the opinion of all the medical men in attendance,
that under no circumstances could his invaluable life have been very
long preserved, though the event was undoubtedly hastened by the
effects of climate, by intense mental application to those duties which
increased in interest with every step he took, and was finally caused
by the effects of cold on a frame exhausted by heat and fatigue.” His
mortal remains were attended to the grave with the highest honours, and
followed by the tears of the inhabitants of Trichinopoly. They rest on
the north side of the altar in St. John’s Church.