_Journal continued._
Simla, Sunday, Sept. 2, 1838.
This is your birthday, and an excellent reason for starting again in my
Journal. I wish you a great many of them, dearest; only please to be
economical, and don't spend them lavishly, till I come home to be with
you.
We have not done much since my last Journal went. We had a meeting of
ladies to settle about the fancy sale, which was easily done, as before
they came I wrote a paper of proposals and they all read it, and said it
would do very well; and if we can only find anything to sell, I dare say
we shall sell it very well. It is to be held in a very pretty valley
called Annandale, and G. gives some silver prizes to be shot for by the
Ghoorkas, and M. is trying to get up some pony races. The only novelty I
suggested was to ask the wives of the uncovenanted service (the clerks
in public offices) to send contributions. This was rather a shock to the
aristocracy of Simla, and they did suggest that some of the wives were
very black. That I met by the argument that the black would not come off
on their works, and upon the whole it was considered that we should not
lose consequence, and might be saved trouble, by sending a printed paper
round to each of their houses. I have done a quantity of drawings, which
Mr. C. is to sell by auction. The rain still continues, but not so
unceasing as it was, and as it lets us get out and prevents our giving
balls, I think it a very nice time of year.
Wednesday, Sept. 5.
I have had Mr. D.'s June letter, which is always satisfactory, and is
one of those _gentlemanlike_ epistles (I don't mean _genteel_, but pithy
and to the point, and like a gentleman in contradistinction to a lady)
that make most eligible letters in these foreign parts. G. always opens
and reads Mr. D.'s letters to us before we see them, because he says he
gets so much news out of them. Rather cool! What do you think I ought to
do about it? Mr. D. and I might have secrets of vital importance, which
G. might let out--very unpleasant!
Friday, Sept. 7.
There was such a beautiful plate-chest to be raffled for at the 'Europe
shop' here--everything that life could require--silver tea-pot, cream,
sugar, forks, spoons, bottle-stands, cruets, &c., and all so pretty. W.
took two tickets, and I one, and there were only 26 tickets in
all--5_l._ each--so it is a great shame we have not won; but it was
thrown for yesterday, and Mr. C. has got it. I am glad, for he wanted
it, and is quite delighted.
There was a second prize, of a clock, which I could have _put up
with_--but did not get it; and a third, of a looking-glass, which nobody
wanted, and which Dr. D. won, and now he does not know what to do with
it. I advise him to bring it home some dark night, and throw it into the
valley behind his house. It may amuse the monkeys, who live there in
tribes, and can be of no other use.
No looking-glass in India has _much_ quicksilver, but this happens to
have none at all, except a few slight streaks here and there.
Saturday, Sept. 8.
You cannot imagine how beautiful our weather is, since a storm on
Wednesday, which cleared up the rains. Such nice clear air, and
altogether it feels English and exhilarating; and I think of you, and
Eden Farm, and the Temple Walk, and Crouch Oak Lane, and the blue
butterflies, and then the gravel-pit, and your reading 'Corinne' to me;
and then the later days of Eastcombe and our parties there, with G. V.
in his wonderful spirits, with all his wit, and all the charm about him;
and all this because the air is English. I _should_ like to go back to
childhood and youth again--there was great enjoyment in them.
Monday, Sept. 10.
We had a large congregation yesterday, and an excellent sermon from Mr.
Y., whose health, however, does not improve. I have made such a
collection of drawings for the fancy sale--_really_ very good. I am
sorry to say it, for it may sound vain, perhaps is vain; but I persist
in thinking them good drawings, and I cannot help thinking you would buy
some of them.
Mrs. Chance, with her twins, came to visit Chance _père_ to-day. He was
very polite to his wife, but could not endure the young puppies. I am
not surprised, for they are nearly quite black, with a little white, but
no tan, and with vulgar, greasy, smooth hair. However, they are only
ten days old, and babies, as you know, alter rapidly.
Thursday, Sept. 13.
We had such a nice expedition yesterday afternoon; just the sort of
thing your children would have enjoyed (only you never let them come out
with me _now_). It was to see two waterfalls, and in Simla, where water
is bought at great expense, we make much of a few pailfulls that fall
gratis over a rock. The valley is about 3,000 feet below our house, very
Swiss, and quite different from the hills--such large cedars, and here
and there a little Swiss-looking cottage, with one door and no window. I
always wonder _how_ ignorant of the ways of the world the inhabitants of
these solitary valleys can be, and how such ignorance feels. No 'crafty
boys,' no fashions, no politics, and, I suppose, a primitive religion
that satisfies them. There are temples of great age in all these places.
I imagine half these people must be a sort of vulgar Adams and Eves--not
so refined, but nearly as innocent.
F. and I were carried down, and rode part of the way up, and when there,
we clambered about some wonderful places, and I have not laughed so much
for ages. There was a cave to go to, and a smooth rock to descend. G.
and Captain J. got me safely to the bottom of the rock, and there we
stopped to see Major U., Dr. D., and F. follow. They got half-way,
clinging on, by a chain of the servants, to a tree at the top, and then
they could get no further. The waterfall made such a noise, that we
could not make them hear that there was nothing, in fact, to come for;
and their hesitations, and scramblings back again, very nearly killed
me. Luckily there was nobody left below to laugh at my return. The
jonpaunees made steps of themselves, and I ran up a flight of
jonpaunee-stairs very decorously. We are all so stiff to-day, not having
walked so much for three years. 'My bones, girl, my bones!' (see 'Romeo
and Juliet.') I wonder whether old Mrs. Davenport has died since we left
England. What an actress she was!
Monday, Sept. 17.
There! I skip three entire days, for my whole soul is in England, and
this letter must go to-day. This morning there came a knock at the door
at seven, and Rosina brought me your July letters, with E.'s enclosed. I
had scarcely digested those, when the Calcutta dâk came in, bringing to
me your June despatch, which ought to have come with the other June
letters exactly one fortnight ago--but never mind! How pleasant it is to
have them both! The Coronation seems to have gone off wonderfully well,
and must have been a beautiful sight. I suppose we shall have our
English papers in two days: I am insatiable for more details. To be
sure, if that little Queen's head were quite turned, and she became the
most affected and consequential of beings, it would not be surprising. A
young creature of nineteen to be the occasion of such a splendid
ceremony, and to have brought together all the great people from all the
great nations to do her honour, is enough to intoxicate her. She must
have great good sense to be so entirely guiltless of _nonsense_.
_Letter to the Countess of B._
Simla, Sept. 8, 1838.
My dearest Sister,--There was no letter from you by the last overland
(June). Odd! Can you account for it? Perhaps you did not write, which
might be one reason (though a very insufficient one) why the letter did
not come, but still it was a pity.
I say no more, being held back by the circumstance that you will have
been a whole month without a line from us. Our letters of June, July,
and August, all leave Bombay this blessed day--Saturday, Sept. 8. Such
an accumulation of twaddle! _We_ are not to blame; _we_ have written--I
wish everybody could say as much: but, however, as Falstaff says, when
he had wrongfully accused Dame Quickly of picking his pocket, 'Hostess,
I forgive thee--go. Look to thy servants: cherish thy guests; thou shalt
find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.'
It is such a nice day to-day. The rains ended last Wednesday. After five
days of an even down-pour, there came a storm of wind that might have
changed the places of some of the little hills, if they had been
addicted to hopping, and which devastated my little garden, which
happens to be on the windy side of the house; but since that, we have
not had a drop of rain. The snowy range has appeared again after a fog
of three months. The hills are all blue and green and covered with
flowers, and there is a sharp, clear air that is perfectly exhilarating.
I have felt nothing like it, I mean nothing so English, since I was on
the terrace at Eastcombe, except perhaps the week we were at the Cape.
It is a shame of the storm to have twisted my one honeysuckle into a
wisp of dead leaves; to have laid low our only double dahlia, and to
have broken off a branch of _the_ lavender bush of Simla. All these
treasures G. deposited in my little garden at the back of the house, and
this is the result of his unguarded confidence. The dahlia was of that
rhubarb and magnesia colour which makes you hear the spoon _grit_
against the cup as you look at it. Still it was the only double dahlia
in India; but that will revive again. The honeysuckle is a mortifying
business. Colonel V. has another, and he used to come crowing and
stuttering here about this 'cu-cu-cu-curious plant' of his which
suddenly took a dwarfish turn and stopped growing; whereas mine had
reached the top of the house, and old V. used to call once a week to
look at it. Now, I don't mind the loss of Colonel V.'s visits, but I did
like to make him envious of my honeysuckle. We are all dreadfully within
sight of travelling again, but there are still six weeks of repose, so
that I am as deaf as a post when the word '_tent_' is mentioned. Still,
the subject of provisions, and marches, and agents and magistrates, must
be alluded to.
Don't you think it would be worth my while to buy a pot of paint, out of
my own allowance, from the Simla 'Europe shop,' and have the acorns and
oak leaves painted _out_ of the lining of my tent? The lining is buff,
with sprigs of oak leaves, and there is an occasional mistake in the
pattern, which distracts me; and there is such an association of dust
and bore and bad health with those acorns, that I do not think I _can_
encounter them again. We are to leave this on November 5. I mention
that openly, because if Guy Faux wishes to keep his '_day_,' it would,
perhaps, be better and more humane to blow up people who are going into
camp, than people who live in houses.
Sept. 13.
I must put this up to-night. This is the first time I have had an
evening quite alone, in an English fashion, since we came to India--not
even a stray aide-de-camp about. They are all gone to the last of the
Simla theatricals. I had seen four out of the five plays, so I excused
myself, as I am drawing all day for the fancy fair, and wanted to write
to you and M. and C. to-night. I was in a horrid fright. ---- was going
to stay with me, but with great tact he walked off to his own house; and
so now, if there were but a carriage-road and a knocker, and a servant
in red inexpressibles to announce you, I really should take it kindly if
you would drive up, give a double knock, and be announced.
As it is, I am very comfortable. I don't object; but the window is open
to the verandah, and I see the little green Ghoorkas (the most hideous
little soldiers in the world) mounting guard, with all sorts of
outlandish noises. The door is, of course, open to the passage--Indian
doors can't shut--and my four hirkarus are sitting cross-legged, wrapped
up in shawls, playing at a sort of draughts that they call 'pucheese.'
There is not a human being in the house who understands a word of
English: the Europeans are all gone to the play, and the head servants
go to their own homes after dinner. I have a great mind to call out
'fire!' and 'thieves!' as loud as I can, to see what will come of
it--it will only break up the game of pucheese; and the hirkarus will
think I have gone mad, and respect me accordingly--they have a great
regard for madness. I really think it awful! I wish I could speak
Hindustani--I am sure I must want something, only I cannot ask for it. I
will tell them to seal this letter, and if they tear it up I shall have
made a sad waste of my evening.
Good-bye, dearest sister. Please always write by the overland post.