1840-1842
_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._
BARRACKPORE,
_March 13, 1840_.
MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, I give it up; I succumb; I see clearly I was all
wrong; generally am, quite mistaken, very sorry, very stupid, etc. But
you and every friend I have will do me the justice to say that since the
first year we passed here I have mentioned openly that I was regularly
twaddling, that I hardly remembered a proper name, and _never_ knew what
was meant for jest or earnest. I have written it home twenty times, and
it is not a complaint peculiar to me, but common to everybody who has
passed a hot season or two in India. Their brains are fairly stewed down
into a harmless jelly; and it is a merciful dispensation that, as they
have not bodily strength to laugh at a joke, they have not wit left to
understand one. I still think that your irony was too fine even for
England--I mean, I might have been puzzled there; here, of course, I
took it all _au pied de la lettre_. I should not have minded it so much,
if just at the moment when George had hazarded himself in a line that
must have ended in success or in impeachment, he had not been turned
upon by almost all the Indian authorities, and every paper without
exception. I did not care for their opinions, wretched little buzzings
of Indian mosquitoes, but when an imposing English hornet came down upon
me with the same small Toryisms, as I thought, I could not stand it.
However, I see it all clearly now, so let us make it up. “Hostess, I
forgive thee: look to thy servants. Wash thy face. Come, thou must not
be in this humour with me.”
I rather expect the next overland may bring out a copy of William’s
book; it is just the sort of thing which will make a great sensation
here. Everybody makes a point of fainting away if their names are
mentioned in the public prints; they have simple hysterics if they are
merely mentioned in a list of passengers by a steamer, etc.; but if
their names are coupled with a comment on their conduct or promotion,
they fall into a dream. Therefore a book upon a subject that may be
connected with politics, by a Military Secretary to the
Governor-General, will be too much for their nerves. I depend upon your
Preface for annihilating them. We are really looking to it with great
anxiety, and considerable prospect of amusement. The papers will wrangle
for a month if you have made any mistake as to the various members of
the Singh family, of which they know nothing themselves. Then _the_
Prinsep,[482] who wrote a book about Runjeet, which you have probably
made use of, is now a Member of Council, the greatest bore Providence
ever created, and so contradictory that he will not let anybody agree or
differ with him. If you have made any use of his book, I mean solemnly
to assert that I _know_ from the best authority you have never heard of
it or him, that it was a great pity you had not, etc.
Your friendship with Mary [Drummond] is certainly rather funny, but once
begun, I think it will go on progressing. Please to let me know if you
see the slightest inkling of a flirtation for either of the girls. They
are the greatest dears I know, and though I had rather they should not
marry till next year, that I may be by to approve, still I should like
to hear of it too.
We came up here this week to see if it were cooler than Calcutta (vain
idea!), and to receive the visits of the station, which, as there are
eight regiments at Barrackpore, were numerous and dull. We had two hours
of fat generals and yellow brigadiers clanking in and out of the room
yesterday; but one visit was rather amusing. The lady was like Caroline
Elliot in her young days; married to come out here; landed a month ago;
is in perfect horror at India; and evidently the poor husband has lost
any charm he ever might have had by his guilt in inveigling her out
here. I asked if she had got into her own house yet. “I have not seen a
house at Barrackpore. Tweddell has taken a barn for me, but I am not in
my own barn yet.” “Have you found a good Ayah? She would help you.” “I
have got some black things Tweddell calls servants. I do not understand
a word they say.” She said she went to bed immediately after dinner, and
I asked if she dined late. “How can I tell? There is no difference in
the hours. Always shut up in a prison to be stung by mosquitoes. And
then Tweddell told me I should be a little Eastern Queen. Oh, if I could
go back this last year.” She was dressed up to the last pitch of the
last number of the _Journal de Modes_, which, poor girl, will not be of
much use at Barrackpore, where the officers are too poor even to dine
with each other; and I own, I think Tweddell has a great deal to answer
for, and _is_ answering for his sins in a wearisome life. But to the
by-standers who have not seen a fresh English girl nor a hearty English
aversion for some years, she was an amusing incident.
Did you know much of Lord Jocelyn[483] at home? He has seen his Agra
and Delhi since he left us, is now doing a bit of tiger-shooting, and
then is coming down as fast as he can to join this Chinese expedition.
His regiment does not go, but George has got Captain Bethune to take him
as a guest. I think I should like to go marauding to Canton. We found at
Calcutta a box of bronze curiosities, etc., that we had ordered before
this little painful misunderstanding with Lin, etc., and they give a
great idea of what might be picked up by an experienced plunderer. Yours
ever,
E. EDEN.
_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._
BARRACKPORE,
_Sunday, April 19, 1840_.
MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, The March overland is just come in, and they say
that if we send an express to Calcutta, to overtake the _other_ express
which was going off with George’s despatches this afternoon, everything
will come straight at Bombay. In my own mind I see nothing but a long
train of innocent Bengalese running after each other, each with a letter
in his hand, the thermometer at 150, and the head man of the train
waving the small quantity of muslin he deigns to wear to a distant puff
of smoke in the Bay of Bengal.
However, as our friendship has had such a frightful _secousse_ and wants
steadying, I pay you every possible little attention, so I write this
hurried line to say that the few letters which have yet arrived, and two
stray papers, all speak in the highest tones of The Book, and of its
success, and how well it is got up, and we are longing for a copy of it,
and George is politically at ease from its being spoken of as a
_personal_ narrative, and altogether it seems like an amusing incident.
William is full of gratitude for all the trouble you have taken about
it.
We have subsided from the interests of Afghan politics into the daily
difficulties of keeping ourselves from being baked alive. I may say we
have _risen_ to this higher pursuit, for it is much the more important
of the two, and of much more difficult achievement. China promises to be
amusing; they are arming themselves and fitting up little innocent
American ships, and collecting war junks; and my own belief is that they
are so conceited and so astucious that they will contrive some odd way
of blowing up all our 74’s with blue and red fireworks, take all our
sailors and soldiers prisoners, and teach them to cut out ivory hollow
balls.
Lord Jocelyn is staying with us, but will sail in about ten days in the
_Conway_. He goes merely as a volunteer with representatives of the
Dragoons, and George has arranged that he is to be passed into any ship
that is likely to see most service. He has great merit in the ardour
with which he looks about for information and for service, and I hope
the Chinese will not take him prisoner.
So the dear little Queen is now Mrs. A. C. I hope she will be happy; and
they may say what they like of her, but she certainly contrives to
conduct herself wonderfully, through a great many trying
ceremonies,--never awkward, and yet just shy enough, and I like her so
for being so affectionate to Aunt Adelaide.
Pray tell Mrs. Drummond I have had her letter and Theresa’s journal,
much to my heart’s content, and I would have written her another line,
but I am horrified at the price of letters. Not but what I guessed my
journal would cost a great deal too much--but £2. 8. 0! I am horrified
in the English sense. Here that would be dog cheap--24 rupees. I never
speak to anybody for less.
The long hand of my watch caught in the other, and the watchmaker
charged 20 rupees for bending it up a hair’s breadth. But still, £2. 8.
0 for a letter! I flatter myself your office pays for this. Good-bye.
Ever yours,
E. EDEN.
_Miss E. Eden to Mr. C. Greville._
CALCUTTA,
_July 6, 1840_.
_My dear Mr. Greville_, At last a copy of _The Court and Camp_ has
reached Calcutta, and was picked up by an alert Aide-de-Camp, who was in
the shop when it arrived. It is immensely well got up, and altogether, I
think, a pretty little book, and more of a book than I expected. It is a
pity more copies did not come by one ship, for there are quantities
bespoken. But in the meanwhile everybody is borrowing this, and they all
delight in the introductory chapter, because, of course, not one of them
has the least idea of the _history_ of the Sikhs as connected with
India, nor of India as connected with anything else, so they are all
delighted at learning it so cheaply, and they look upon you as a prodigy
of Eastern learning. There are one or two misprints in the book, which
do very well for England, but is the sort of thing they will take up
here, where their intellects are below mistake par, but just up to a
misprint; and I should imagine that the Agra Akbar will wonder at the
ignorance of the aristocracy who can call a thermantidote a
phermantidote, and that the _Delhi Gazette_, which is courtly, will say
it ought to be phermantidote, and that they could give the Greek
derivation, only they have no Greek type.
I think you ought to feel a sort of paternal interest in the Sikh
dynasty, and would like to know that Kharak Singh[484] still retains
the name of King, and Mr. Clerk (the Governor-General’s agent) says that
Noormahal’s attentions to his father in public increase in proportion as
he deprives him of all power. He says Noormahal all through the Durbar
is occupied in wiping the dust from Kharak’s band, when not a particle
has settled, or with a Chowry in driving away flies from his father’s
hand, which they never approach, and that Kharak, though a fool, is wise
enough not to like these demonstrations of tenderness.
The fleet left Singapore for Macao on the 30th May; the fear of bad
weather prevented their waiting any longer for Admiral Elliot. William
Osborne and Lord Jocelyn seemed very well satisfied with their
accommodation in the _Conway_, and were gone on in her. William asked
some of the Chinese at Singapore whether their way of making war was
like ours, and they said, “Much the same, only more guns and less drum.”
He asked what they thought of the steamers, which were, in fact, quite
new to them, and they said, “Oh, plenty at Pekin; only little smaller.”
I am in a horrid mood of mind at all these requisitions from home that
are to keep us here another year; and have turned rank Tory on the spot,
and can think of nothing but the quickest means of turning the Ministry
out, and then of rushing down to the river-side and beckoning to the
first ship. But surely we never shall be kept here. I don’t think the
people at home have an idea what a place it is, but they _will_ know
hereafter, if they go on behaving so in this life. And as for the idea
that any Governor-General is to stay till everything is quite quiet and
peaceable in this great continent, you might as well ask the fish to
stay in the frying-pan till they have put out the fire.
There always must be some great piece of work in hand here. In the
meantime, life is passing and friends are dying, and we are becoming so
old that it will be impossible to take up the thread of existence again
with the young things like the Drummonds, etc., whom I had looked upon
as the supports of my old age. It will never do to stay.
We are to have at dinner to-day a son of Theodore Hook’s, just arrived.
He does not look as if he could improvise, or do much better if he
_provised_; but I never saw the father, so he may look stupid, too,
without being so. I see there are two of T. Hook’s novels published
lately, and trust the son may have partially brought them out.[485]
I have become a great whist player upon the one-eyed monarch principle.
Nobody else can play at all, and when the Governor-General and the
Commander-in-Chief dine together, it is obvious that they must have
their rubber, and so I and the Aide-de-Camp or the Doctor play with
them. Can’t you see the sort of thing? Shocking whist, but it helps the
evening through. I play much better than Sir Jasper,[486] but worse,
George says, than anybody else he ever saw. Ever yours,
E. EDEN.
_Miss Eden to Lady Campbell._
CALCUTTA,
_July 17, 1840_.
MY DEAREST PAM, Your friend Mr. Taylor arrived this week with the letter
you gave him ten months ago--perhaps not bad travelling for a letter of
introduction, though not exactly rapid as a means of receiving
intelligence. However, a letter’s a letter, and I am the last person in
the world to complain.
George has seen your Taylor, and says he is very promising, and I have
asked him to Barrackpore for love of you and in the strongest reliance
on your Edward’s[487] judgment. Otherwise, there _is_ a brother of his
in this country now (thank goodness up the country) that used to drive
me demented--just the opposite to all you say of your friend--not
good-looking, not a “chap” at all, and rather a black sheep--though,
poor man, I should not say so. But you cannot imagine the provocation of
his manner or the excess of his conceit. It induced a freezing sort of
snappishness in oneself that was, however, utterly unavailing; it only
made him more affable and jocose. And, to crown all, he shaved his head
after a fever, or his doctor shaved it to tease him, or something of
that sort, and he came dancing about in a little velvet skull-cap.
I think my health has been so good this year at Calcutta because Pearce
Taylor was not there.
No, dearest, I never blame you for not writing. I always feel that I
know you just the same as ever, and that it is not your fault if your
children take up all your time. I only regret that the world should be
such a very large, thick, slice of bread, and that butter should be so
scarce that they should have been obliged to spread us at the two
opposite ends. We should have been much happier in the same butter-boat,
but I suppose it could not be helped. My side of the bread too, is
turned to the fire and I am half-roasted, which, if I do not write twice
to your once, is my _set off_ against the claims of your children.
I have always wondered how much you liked Mrs. Fane. You mentioned her
in one letter as liking her very much, and she is a good-natured little
woman, but not _one of us_, is she, Pam? I think she must have felt Sir
Henry’s death.[488] He was always very kind to her in his way, without
putting her at her ease.
Our George has done very well in India, has he not? You know we always
thought highly of him even in his comical dog days.... Now I think he
has done enough, and might as well go home, but none of the people at
home will hear of it, and this month’s despatches have made me
desperate. Moreover, I cannot stay away another year from Mary and her
girls, and fifty others. I do not like anybody here, and if we try to
get up a shade more intimacy with any lady, then all the others are
cross, and her husband or brother wants something, and that makes a
story, and so on.
William Osborne is gone with the China expedition, which is a sad loss
to poor Fanny. However, I believe that will be a very short business,
and that he will soon be back again. The Chinese have already begun to
say they hope there will be much talkee before fightee, which does not
promise much fightee. William says that at Singapore they saw quantities
of little dogs fattening regularly in coops for the table, and their
captain’s steward was looking at them, which gave Lord Jocelyn and
himself an alarm about their future dinners.
Your little picture is still such a pleasure to me. Mind you keep like
it, that I may know you again. None of the children know me, which is
shocking and foolish. Your most affectionate
E. E.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
DUBLIN,
_September 27, 1840_.
Just so my darling. I am rather glad you wrote before you saw the Taylor
I sent, for fear he should be a beast in spite of Edward’s good word.
Emmy, this other year seems harder to swallow than all the rest. But I
will not touch upon it; it is too raw. There has been a talk of our
asking for something in India; I thought it just probable that we might
pass each other at sea! However, we should have to leave so many
children they said it would not pay, and I could have hugged them. One
man I can scarce bear to look at who put it into Sir Guy’s head at
first, and how much we were to lay by, and how charming the climate was,
and how I should marry my daughters!
Yes, Sir Guy’s Fanny is married and very happy. Captain Harvey[489] is a
very handsome, nice person; they have not much money at present, but
that cannot be helped. Pam[490] has been with her for the last month at
Carlisle, where Fanny is quartered. Pam was very ill with ague, so I
sent her to the Napiers. She comes back to me next week. I long to show
her to you--not for the beauty, for she is no beauty, tho’ nice-looking.
But, Emmy, she is quite, quite one of us--I need not explain how
pleasant, how good, how full of sense and fun. She is such a comfort to
me.
The next, Georgina,[491] is very pretty and very dear, but not so gentle
and patient as Pam.
I had my sailor boy for two blessed months. This boy, Guy,[492] came
home so improved, so gentle and affectionate, and delightful from sea. I
felt so thankful, as I rather feared the sea. It is a dreadful life to
be the mother of a sailor; so hard to bear. Wind always to me was a sad
sound, but now I can hardly help crying. All the rest are good little
nice things, and I have no governess, so I have a good deal of their
company more or less. We are quaking for the Brevet, but I will not
entertain you with my hopes and fears, and want of pence, or what you
call _Pice_, don’t you?...
I like Lord Ebrington, and he seems to like you all so much. I get on
much better with him than with Lord Normanby. However, he does not give
dinners and balls and parties enough, and the _trade_ complain. Dear
Lord Morpeth is coming to dine with me to-day, and won’t we talk of you?
He is such a charming person, and my most particular friend. You gave
him to me, you know, when you went away. Mary will have told you how we
had settled I was to go over and see her. Her girls are so nice, and she
herself dearer than ever, and all the better from going out more. For a
little while she really ensconced herself inside the high wire nursery
fender, and one saw her in the uncomfortable way in which when we were
bairns you may remember we used to see the fire, never getting at it
enough. I was sorry she gave up poor Grosvenor Place. I like all those
old Grosvenors; I could have cried when I looked at No. 30! _Du reste_,
I rather like getting old; there is wonderful repose in it; it saves one
so much trouble--so much of the work done. I am so glad you are getting
fat, so am I, and I combine also the grey hair which you mention George
has assumed. I am very grey; fat and grey sounds like an old cat, but
what does it signify? when once we meet, how young we shall feel then.
Emmy, do you remember your aversion to mittens? My dear, I was in
advance of my age. When I wore them, like Bacon and Galileo I appealed
to posterity, and posterity made haste, and everybody wears mittens,
morning, noon, and night. The only chance you have is, that they will
have burnt out before you come back, and my hair too. Everybody _lisse_
and banded, and they little know that George and I were the only two
people that wore close heads in our day.
[Illustration: Omery Galber
Eleanor, Countess of Buckinghamshire.]
The Lansdownes spent a week here. She is looking well, and in much
better spirits, and her countenance so much softer and gentler, that I
think her more loveable than I ever knew. I never knew how much I loved
her till I was with her in her grief.[493] Louisa[494] looking well
for her, and ready to talk and be pleased. Lord Lansdowne rather older.
I was wondering what made him look so well and distinguished and
conversable, and I found he was set off by Lord Charlemont, who rejoices
in a brown natural hair wig, which made Lord Lansdowne in his nice grey
hair look quite beautiful.
I have got a nice two-year-old[495] baby just _pour me désennuyer_; such
a nice duck! The youngest after six girls. Pam says he is doomed to wear
all the old bent bonnets out, and accordingly I found him in the hay
with a bonnet on.
_Tuesday, September 20, 1840._
I wrote all this Sunday and I must just add one word. Lord Morpeth dined
here early with me and the children, and was to start by the eleven
o’clock train to the packet for to sail for England to attend the
Cabinet Council, _as we vulgar_ imagine, upon peace or war, _rien que
ça_. However, my delicacy was such I did not pump at all. He is a real
good soul, and I have scruples about pumping him. Old Berkeley Square I
always make a point of pumping till the handle has come off in my hand
often, but very little water ever! Yours ever,
PAMELA CAMPBELL.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_January 15, 1841_.
MY DEAREST SISTER, After a long cessation all our letters came to
hand--all from September to November 4th. You had been doing your
_Mimms_, which I never think sounds comfortable. Indeed, I remember
seeing the place once and thinking it very melancholy, damp, and
dead-leafish.
Yes, as you say, as long as Chance is alive there is a wall between
Dandy and death; but then you know spaniels live longer than terriers,
and at all events it would be a sort of preparation to Dandy to
insinuate to him that Chance has lost his last tooth, which the faithful
Jimmund, his servant, has had set in a silver ring.
You have never mentioned that you have a new clergyman of the name of
Hazlewood at Greenwich. You never tell _me_ anything in confidence
whatever, after so many years; and after all, I don’t see the use of
making such a mystery of it. “But I have often observed a little spirit
of nonsense and secrecy,” as Mrs. Norris says, about your clergyman,
that I would advise you to get rid of. Your Hazlewood (you see I know
his real name) is brother to our Captain Hazlewood, commonly called
Harum Scarum. Hazlewood Scarum got a letter by this last post saying:
“Lady Buckinghamshire, who is a constant attendant at my church, is, I
find, a sister of Lord Auckland’s. You cannot imagine how much I wish to
make her acquaintance. I think our mutual interests in India,” etc.,
etc.
Probably by this time you may have seen him. Our Hazlewood is going home
next week in the _Hardwick_. The wounds he received at Ghazni[496] were
very severe; and he rattles about, and dances and rides, and proposes
and breaks off his engagements, and altogether he has never let himself
get well, and has suffered so much from his arm lately that his general
health is beginning to give way, and Doctor Drummond has ordered him
home. A man who goes home on a medical certificate has his passage paid
by the liberal Company, and gets £50 a year while he is in England; so
that upon the whole a slight wound is not such a bad thing. I am rather
on the look-out for a generous adversary who will wound me just up to
the pitch of being ordered home, and having my passage paid, but not a
bit more. Poor Hazlewood’s is much more than that; but the voyage will
probably set him up, though he will never have the use of his arm again.
As he will go to Greenwich to see his brother, I have given him a line
to you. It will not entail upon you more than a dinner, and he is a very
good-humoured, obliging creature, and not at all vulgar. There is not
the slightest chance of his spoiling the view at Eastcombe by setting
that little wretched stream the Thames on fire; though I have no doubt
he will try, as he always must be busy about something. He may give you
a flourishing account of us, as we are all going on very well, I think.
The Admiral[497] has made a shocking mess of China--at least he has done
nothing, and the force and the ships and the money have all been wasted,
leaving things just as they were a year ago. Now he has given up the
Command, writing most pitiable accounts of his being in a dying state
from disease of the heart, with no chance of reaching home alive; and
for the last ten days we have been believing this and pitying and
defending him. And now to-day George has a letter from him, written on
board his son’s ship, saying they were all on the way home; that he
thought he had mistaken his complaint, which was now merely liver, and
that he felt nearly well again. It is an unhappy bit of his career, and
such weakness is rather odd in such a stern, stiff-looking man as G.
Elliot.
Charles[498] is now left sole Plenipotentiary, and if he can but keep to
his own mind two days running is clever enough to do very well; but he
is terribly vacillating. She wishes very much that she was with him
just now, and I can fancy she might be of use in keeping him up to the
mark; but she cannot go during the present monsoon, and except for the
pleasure of seeing Charles again, I think she will be very sorry to
leave Calcutta. Ever your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._
CALCUTTA,
_January 17, 1841_.
MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, I am grieved you were so troubled with the gout
when you wrote, as I have never been of the opinion that a fit of gout
is a matter of that perfect indifference which people who are not
sufferers from it claim to assert. I think you had better come out as
Lord Auckland’s successor, if you cannot come and visit us. Nobody has
the gout in India. I suppose it is _perspired_ out of them. And even
General Elphinstone,[499] who was a wretched victim to it when we met
him going up to Meerut--almost the worst I ever saw--has, I hear, lost
it quite during the hot season. He is going to succeed Sir W.
Cotton[500] in Afghanistan, and does not like it on account of the cold
climate.... Ever yours most truly,
E. E.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
BARRACKPORE,
_February 6, 1841_.
MY DEAREST SISTER, I am just come back from doing a bit of duty, so I
may as well try whether writing to you will not be a bit of pleasure in
this dark half-hour before dressing.
The little Nawâb of Moorshedabad has anchored his fleet of boats just in
front of this house, on his way up the river home. He is the convoy of
the late lamented Captain Showers, who has gone and married himself to a
very plain, unpleasant young lady, and has consequently left us, and
George has given him the care of this boy’s education. George took the
little Nawâb a drive, and I have been, with Rosina[501] as an
interpreter, to see the Begum in her Pinnace, and it strikes me that it
is very lucky I was not born a Mussulmannee. I am sure if they shut me
up in that fashion I should have got into a thousand scrapes, and
probably some very bad ones; and moreover, I should have gone out of my
mind with bore and heat. She was in the centre cabin of the Pinnace,
with three or four antechambers made of curtains, so arranged that there
was no possibility of her being seen when one was opened. All the
jalousies of the cabin were shut, and it was so dreadfully hot that I
was obliged to ask for a breath of air; and then there was such a fuss:
Captain Macintosh and the boats that brought my servants requested to
keep off--sentries on deck thrown into a fuss--and then when a
fishing-boat came by, such a rush to shut up one wretched bit of blind
which nobody could see through--and if they had, I think they would have
been very much disappointed. “I am not the lovely girl I was,” and the
Begum, though rather pretty, is so extremely small I don’t think they
could see her at all without a glass. Her women were shut up in another
dark cabin, and her visible attendants were all of that class (saving
your presence) who are allowed to wait on Eastern ladies.
Visits to native ladies are much more amusing when I go with Rosina,
than when there is a stiff secretary translating from the other side of
the punkah. The Begum was delighted with some English flowers that I
took her, and began asking Rosina about England, and amongst other
things, she and her attendants having ascertained that it was really
true that we walked out in London, wanted very much to know if we did
not wear veils and loose trousers on those occasions. Rosina made them
all laugh very much, and the Begum gave her £5 when we went away. I
should think a laugh must be cheap at the money. I am quite sure I
should have gone wrong, particularly wrong, if I had been one of these
shut-up ladies, out of mere spite. It might have been difficult to
contrive it, but I think I should have been a very profligate Begum.
They say this little lady was. Now she is not more than twenty-six, and
having lost her husband has lost her power, and is under the control of
a strict mother-in-law, and her chief occupation is to _cook_ for her
son. She never lets anybody else cook for him for fear he should be
poisoned.
CALCUTTA,
_February 9, 1841_.
No more decisive news from China. Charles Elliot still goes on
negotiating--or as the people there call it, _no_-gotiating. The navy,
army, and merchants are all equally dissatisfied. By the last letter, he
declared Sir Gordon Bremer[502] was to attack the Bogue forts the next
day if the Chinese did not sign the treaty, but he has said so so often
that nobody will believe it till they see it, and even when they do it
is impossible not to regret that it was not done a year ago. Mrs. Elliot
has rather a hard time of it, I fancy, as the society here is chiefly
mercantile, and they all consider themselves ruined by all this weakness
and procrastination, and the papers, too, are full of abuse. She bears
it better than most people would, but fidgets about his vacillation, I
suspect. She talks of sailing in about ten days.... This day twelve
month how sea-sick I hope to be. Yr. most aff.
E. E.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_April 6, 1841_.
MY DEAREST SISTER, I did not write to you last month. I daresay you
never found it out, only I am so honest I tell. But I had a large arrear
of friends to bring up, and as Fanny said she had written you a double
letter, I thought you would not miss me if “I just stepped out for a
bit.”
I am sure you would pity me at this moment. Just fancy yourself trying
to be fond of Dandy’s successor, and in the still lower position of
finding that successor refusing obstinately to be fond of you. As for
ever caring for a dog as I did for poor dear Chance, the thing is
impossible. I do not believe there ever was so clever a dog, and very
few equally clever men; and then, after eight years of such a rambling
life, we have had so many recollections in common, and he was such a
well-known character in India. I had no great fancy to have another; but
we are alone so many hours of the day that a pet is almost a necessity,
and a Doctor Young, who is just come from England, hearing I had lost
Chance, very politely sent me a little English spaniel he had brought
with him.
The gentlemen all say it is a perfect beauty, with immense ears, and a
short nose, and all the right things. It may be so; unluckily it is not
even the kind of beauty I admire, and in all other respects I think I
may safely say I never hated a small dumb beast so much in all my life.
It is wild and riotous and foolish, and whines after its old master
half the day; or else runs off like a mad thing, and the servants, who
cannot pronounce its name, Duke, are streaming about the house after it,
calling Juck, Juck! That name is its only merit. I suppose nobody ever
had a dog called Juck before. Everybody says it will grow tame, but I
know better. I have had it eight days, and I think in another week it
will be lawful to return it to Doctor Young, and say I cannot deprive
him of it--such a treasure, such a Juck!
Your account of Dandy barking at the Southwark police particularly
amused us. Fanny’s dog flies at all the natives who happen to have
stepped out without their clothes just in that way, and George longs to
murder him for it, as a dog frightens them out of their senses.
We have just had the very Chinese news that George has anticipated all
along--indeed, so certainly, that two months ago he luckily sent his own
orders to stop all of the convoy and fleet that C. Elliot had not
dispersed. The Emperor would not even listen to that treaty, bad as it
was, so now it is a declared war, and the Bogue forts have been taken,
which was easily done, as the garrison all ran without firing a shot.
That was what George advised, and indeed ordered as far as he could ten
months ago, when the expedition started in full strength. Now the ships
are half-dispersed, half-crippled, and an immense proportion of the
soldiers dead or disabled, and it is evident that Charles[503] now does
not know what to do. In the meanwhile, in his odd mad way, he had sent
orders to have Chusan evacuated without waiting for a ratification of
the treaty, and he has been obliged to withdraw the few soldiers that
had garrisoned Hong Kong, his great hobby of an acquisition, because
they were wanted on board ship. So we literally have not an inch of
ground or a single thing gained by all this immense expenditure. The
Chinese actually ordered us out of Chusan before they would give up one
of their few prisoners, and we obeyed. The sort of fun they must make of
us.
I have had a line from Mrs. Elliot, who met the news at Singapore and
was much out of spirits. But George has not yet heard from Charles. It
is lucky he is what he is, totally blind to his own folly, for I am sure
half the men in his position would be driven to some act of desperation.
_April 14._
No more tidings from Charles Elliot. William is gone off on a
tiger-hunting expedition with a Mr. Larpent. It is a dreadfully hot time
of the year for this sort of work, but I believe tiger-shooting is that
degree of exquisite pleasure that makes up for all inconveniences, and
the mere idea did him a great deal of good. He has been in one of his
_meandering_ states of spirits ever since the excitement of the races
were over, living very much alone and looking utterly broken-hearted;
but this new excitement has roused him again, and he went off quite
happy with the thermometer at about 95, I suppose, out of doors.
Juck has subsided a little, but is a positive misery, and very
uninteresting. I am getting on very fast with a collection of drawings
and flowers, those that are not common in England. I sketch them and put
in the colours, and I have hired two natives by the month who sit in the
passage and paint them. I think you would rather like to see them (the
drawings, not the natives), but I know what you will say--Very pretty,
my dear, but they are all red and yellow. You must have had a sad want
of blue flowers,--and I don’t exactly know how I can contradict you.
Some of the parasite plants, tho’, are very beautiful. I have been
gradually making a new garden in front of the house, rather in the large
round chumpy line, but the size of the house requires that bold style,
and by the time we go it will be very pretty, and quite ready to be
destroyed by the next Lady.
Lady Amherst[504] made a magnificent garden all round the house, which
stands in the centre of what we call a huge compound. Lady William[505]
[Bentinck] said flowers were very unwholesome, and had everything rooted
out the first week. I never thought of restoring it till last year, and
now it is all done very economically, and only on one side of the house,
and at a considerable distance, so that the doctors can’t have the
conscience to object, etc. I am just finishing two little fish ponds.
All the bamboo fences will be covered with creepers after the next
rains, and then, as I said, the next lady may pull them all up, and let
the ground lie fallow for her successor, and so on. Whatever she may
think of the garden, I am sure she ought to be obliged to me for
clearing up the house. It was all left in such an untidy state. You must
recollect those old looking-glasses that had been put in the ball-room
by Lord Wellesley. I think they must have lost all their quicksilver
when Lord Wellesley was a little boy. I sent them all to the auction
last month, as we are not up to re-silvering glass in India, and they
actually fetched £400; and with that I am going to have the ball-room
gilt in a very elaborate manner, and I think it will be a great
improvement.
We have lost Captain Hill, who succeeded Major Byrne in the management
of the house and its expenses, whether ours, or the Company’s. He was
taken so alarming ill that he was obliged to go off to the Hills,
nominally on sick leave, but I fear there is no chance of his returning.
And it was all so sudden that he had no time to instruct his successor.
However, Gales is a very efficient House Steward, and I am carefully
educating Captain Macintosh in the Company’s interests. It often strikes
me that a very extravagant Governor-General might puzzle the Directors
very much; he can order any expense whatever, and as it is, the
establishment is enormous. Of course they can recall him when his
accounts go home, but there is nobody to check him here.
They say Lord Elphinstone has been in a horrible scrape with them for
his Durbar expenses--money spent on his house and furniture. They ought
to think highly of my little looking-glass economy, and if they would
send us out just a dozen very large looking-glasses, etc. However, I am
going home, at least I hope so. I expect this will find you under a Tory
Government--wretched, ill-governed creatures! The last hope of elections
seems fatal, and China news will be a good grievance to have the
Government out upon. I wish our successor were named. It is quite time
he should be, as George wishes to see him here before we go. Do name him
at once.
Ever, dearest Sister, your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to her Brother, Robert Eden._
CALCUTTA,
_April 12, 1841_.
MY DEAREST ROBERT, There is no particular good news to send you this
time, though nothing much the reverse from India; but I think if the
Opposition did not take advantage of C. Elliot’s first absurd peace,
they may turn the Ministry out on finding it is no peace at all, and
that, moreover, he has not left himself the means of carrying on a war.
There never was such a man, if he were not a positive fool. I really
think he would go mad when he looks back on all he has done this year.
The last act of giving up Chusan, without waiting to see if the Emperor
would ratify the treaty, is the crown to all his absurdity. We have not
a foot of land left of their territory, and they actually ordered the
last soldier out of Chusan before they would give up their few
prisoners. Everybody wonders what will be the next news. Probably, that
he will prevent Sir Gordon Bremer from taking Canton, for fear it should
hurt the feelings of the Chinese, and the Emperor will probably send
down orders that our sailors are to wear long tails and broad hats, wink
their eyes, and fan themselves, and C. Elliot will try to teach them. I
don’t think my national pride ever was so much hurt.
Everybody is curious to know what the orders from home are. I have a
horrible fright that if the Whigs are still in, they will send out full
powers to George to take the business in hand. That _might_ interfere
with our going home, which would be much more distressing than any
national offence, and also it would be very inconvenient to him just
now.
The Punjâb remains so unsettled that all the spare troops are obliged to
be kept on that frontier; and then Major Todd[506] has brought Herat
into a mess, and though I think that is nearer to you than to us, it
makes great difficulties in this direction. Then Singh and his army
cannot get on at all. Runjeet’s death has been so like the death of
Alexander, and of half those great conquerors in ancient history that we
used to read about, and believe in. His army was a very fine thing, and
his kingdom a good kingdom while he was there to keep his one eye upon
them, but the instant he died it all fell into confusion, and his
soldiers have now murdered all their French (I began on a half sheet by
mistake) and English officers, and are marauding wildly all over the
country. It is not actually any business of ours, but it interrupts our
communications with Afghanistan; and, in short, it is obvious that it
might at last furnish one of those pretences for interference England
delights in, and when once we begin I know (don’t you?) what becomes of
the country we assist--swallowed up whole.
Anyhow, I wish you would bestir yourself about our successor. It is high
time he should be named; moreover, my stock of gloves is exhausted, so
at all events I must come home. Do you think you could buy me instantly
from Fownes a dozen of long white gloves, ditto of short, and send them
off by some ship that is actually in full sail, not lying in that
dockyard where Grindlay locks up all the ships.
I suppose Fanny has given you most of our private history, so I have
given you this little touch of our public history. William is gone
tiger-shooting. Our new doctor is, I think, a very remarkable boxer, and
does not suit George at all. However, he is a good-natured man, and if
he would leave off cutting little melancholy jokes and making a face
like a rabbit when he laughs at them, and if he would not ask such a
quantity of small questions, there would be no harm in him. Your
affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_May 6, 1841_.
MY DEAREST SISTER, Fanny means to write to you a line herself before the
post goes, and indeed may probably be strong again before the express
starts; but in the meanwhile I may as well begin a regular letter, as
she will not be able to do much. I am convinced we are all many hundred
years old, and barring that I have lost my hair, and my teeth, and my
eyesight, and I rather think my hearing, and am quite yellow and
probably stoop a little, I am very juvenile, and I must own never had
such good health in my life.
Between ourselves, our doctor is a perfect calamity, and George had
nearly yesterday made up his mind to get rid of him, but it would be a
strong measure. He has taken all the pains he could about Fanny, but he
is evidently an ignorant man on the subject of medicine, which is a
little unlucky for a doctor, and in other respects the greatest bore I
ever encountered--a sort of thing that makes one wag one’s ears and
stamp, he is so tiresome and slow.
What has knocked him up with George is his treatment of the natives.
Nothing will induce him to take the slightest charge of the servants and
their families, and he and I came to a grand blow up on the subject
yesterday about a boy who had been bit by a mad dog. George wanted to
get rid of him on the spot, but I thought it would be supposed he had
been sent away on account of Fanny’s protracted illness, which would be
ruin to him in his profession, and it must wait. But Macintosh added up
the case as it really stands: “The man is a brute to the natives, and I
am very glad that I have hated him ever since he entered the house, and
we all do the same.”
Yesterday we sent for old Doctor Nicolson, the Sir H. Halford of
Calcutta, whom everybody abuses and yet they all send for him, and the
other doctors mind every word he says. I have no faith in him myself,
except perhaps in these Indian cases, which he has seen enough of the
last forty years, and at all events he has put Fanny in better spirits
about herself.
Certainly the body is quite as inconsistent as the mind. I remember
laughing so the first two years at people going out, even in the cold
weather, with shawls on, and thinking it affectation. All the last week
I have dined with two shawls on, and George with his great cloth cloak,
and both of us declaring the evenings were delicious, only too chilly. I
imagine the kitchen at Eastcombe would be an ice-pit in comparison. Last
night at cards I asked Captain Macintosh if he had any return of ague,
and he said no, but that he and Captain Hollyer were both so dreadfully
cold they wanted to have the jalousies shut. The thermometer was at 79,
but I was quite as shivery as they were. I hope we shall brace ourselves
up on the voyage home, otherwise you will think us very tiresome and
fusty.
I still think my new dog a great bore, thank you. I knew you were going
to ask, and I do not suppose I am capable of an infidelity to Chance’s
memory, for everybody says this is a perfect treasure. I have had the
promise of another, more after Chance’s pattern, but it is ill, and as
dogs always die in this country as soon as they are ill, it never may
reach me. But, in the meanwhile, I am not obliged to attach myself to
Juck. Your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_June 1, 1841._
MY DEAREST SISTER, You can hardly have the cruelty to expect a poor
creature to write after three weeks of the most desperate weather ever
felt in India, and no signs of a change. Even the natives are completely
beat by it. The Baboos say they can’t write, and the tailors can’t sew,
and I see the man who is pulling the punkah has a large fan in the other
hand with which he is fanning himself. Even George owns to falling
asleep over his work; and then the evenings are so hot we cannot drive,
which is unwholesome for him. Under these circumstances it is rather
difficult to write.
Fanny left a letter for you before she went. They have been gone a week
to-day, and therefore ought to be at Singapore to-morrow. I heard from
her on Wednesday evening when the pilot left them, just gone to sea, and
she said she felt better, though the heat had been dreadful in the
river, and that it was the quietest ship she had ever been in, and that
William [Osborne] was very contented, etc.; and Sir Gordon wrote word
she was in excellent spirits. If they find a ship ready to start from
Singapore they may be back in less than five weeks, and at all events in
six, and I am sure they will have had a blessed miss of any part of this
month. I rather hope they will make a week’s more delay, and go and see
Penang when they are about it. Everybody says it is so beautiful.
In the meanwhile, I take it we are going to bring her and Sir Gordon and
the whole ship’s company into the Supreme Court, I believe, and probably
transport them all. The captains of three several ships have all come
storming up the river, declaring that Sir Gordon fired upon them because
they did not salute his pennant quick enough to please him; and one
captain has brought two _balls_, one of which passed between him and his
pilot, and the other went through the cabin full of passengers. As they
were arriving from England, not thinking of finding a Commodore, and
certainly not expecting to find him on board a steamer tugging another
ship, it is rather sharp practice firing at all; but firing loaded guns
is quite a new idea. I hope it will not be proved that Fanny has been
popping away out of her cabin on these unsuspecting new arrivals. Sir
Gordon is always amazingly on the alert about his dignity; and having
detained _The Queen_ a day in order that he might attend the birthday
ball, went to bed before supper. It was supposed from some jealousy
about the Members of Council taking precedence of him.
I cannot think Charles Elliot and he, by clubbing all the intellect
they have, will ever be a match for one Chinese, even of a very
pale-coloured button, or indeed an unbuttoned Mandarin, if there is such
an improper character.
Our Queen’s ball was very magnificent, and, as I fondly hope it is our
last, I am glad it went off so well. I _wore my diamonds!_ I think that
sounds well, so the particulars will remain a mystery, but they really
looked very well, and George bought a beautiful row of pearls the other
day which he _lends_ me. We had Dost Mahomed and his sons and suite at
the ball, the first time he had ever seen European ladies in their
_shameless_ dress; but he did not see the dancing; George took him into
another room. He is a very kingly sort of person, and carries off his
half-captive, half Lion position with great tact. By way of relieving
George part of the evening, I asked him to play at chess, and we played
game and game, which was rather a triumph, considering the native chess
is not like ours, and he kept inventing new rules as we went on. I
somehow think if he were not a Dost it was not quite fair.
I opine this weather is having an excellent effect on George’s mind. The
most opinionated Governor-General never could dream of staying another
year after having been done to a turn--I may say rather overdone now,
and I cannot think that he _is_ thinking of it, only the letter from
England frightened him. But he declares that he wrote home for a
successor two months ago. Mr. Colvin, who is as anxious to go home as I
am, was in his room when I went there just now, and we made an invited
poke, which elicited an explicit answer that he meant to go home,
barring any extraordinary accident. I do not know how there could be any
accident more extraordinary or more fatal than our staying here another
year, and I feel we shall go.
Whenever I am too much beat by the weather even to take a book, I find
I am always thinking of packing and tin cases, and whether the railroad
from Portsmouth is not a horrid conveyance; and I never dream of
anything that is not purely English.
Law! Sister, there is such a gale of wind it has actually blown open a
window by breaking an iron bar, and the rain is coming down like smoke,
and I rather think, but cannot be sure, that I am coming to life. Of
course it is not the actual rains, but they must come in a fortnight,
and this is a blessing for an hour.
My new dog is a total failure. I still call him mine, but Captain
Macintosh takes care of him. I have been offered another, but I know
nothing will do after Chance.
Take care of Dandy and yourself. Ever your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_July 18, 1841._
MY DEAREST SISTER, At first I scorned your spiteful imputation that I
had not written to you by the April mail, but upon looking back into my
littel boke of dates, I found it was true, and now I only wonder how you
found it out. I see that it is for some years the first month I have
missed writing, and for fear the case should occur again, I strongly
advise that you should seal up two or three of my old Indian letters, if
you can find them; and desire Streeton to bring one in on a silver
waiter at the proper time. You will be quite taken in, for I have a deep
conviction that my letters have all been copies one of the other, so one
on the old pattern will seem quite natural to you.
Those horrid English letters of June 4 came in yesterday. They always
give me a low day, but this was worse than ever. I had made up my mind
that the Whigs were to be out and the Tories naming another
Governor-General. I do not now think the dissolution will help them
much, but others say it may, and now they have sent out full powers to
George to try and mend up that Chinese mess, and he thinks that if the
Whigs stay in, that he will be obliged to stay on. However, I did
nothing but cry about it yesterday, and now to-day I see it all quite
differently. I don’t think they will stay, nor he, nor we, and so I
won’t bother you about it till I see things more dispassionately. We are
to have another post in before ours goes, and that will show the turn
the elections are going to take, and I think--I am not sure--but I
_think_ I can live on in the hope of that post settling our return. I
always believe for the best, and this would be such a disappointment
that I have a sort of faith it _cannot_ happen, and so let us talk of
something else.
I am glad Hazlewood’s visit was not very fatiguing. He is a good-hearted
creature, and a shocking martyr to his wounds, but he has not half an
idea in his head, and I rather thought it a bold thing to introduce him.
But I daresay the pleasure to him was greater than the bore to you, and
that is the way to balance those things. And then, all Indians dote on a
live Countess. A stuffed one they would look up to, but a live one is
really a treat.
How is Dandy? Zoe, my new dog, is decidedly a treasure, marked just like
the lamented Chance, but smaller, and she does not interfere with my
respect to his memory, as she has no talents and no temper, but is
_creepmousey_, and cares for nothing and nobody but me, and requires
constant petting--a familiarity Chance did not admit of. She is
unluckily not used to the climate, and Brown, our coachman, who is
probably disgusted at having to doctor her so often, said to me
yesterday, “She is a nice little pet, ma’am, but I think the delicacy
of her health will give you a great deal of trouble.” Just as if it were
a delicate baby.
We had a sad incident amongst the pets yesterday. Captain Thurlow was in
William’s room, and was looking at some of his daggers and playing with
William’s great bloodhound. William was called out of the room, upon
which Nero laid hold of poor Captain Thurlow’s nose and bit it quite
through. They say he would have bit it off, if he had not been _in
play_. But in the meanwhile Thurlow is bit and Nero sent away, an event
that delights George, who always thought him an unsafe pet.
_August_ 11, 1841.
Think of that being written three weeks ago, and Thurlow was at
Barrackpore three weeks ago in attendance on his General, and his nose
so dreadful that, though he only appeared by candle-light, and that for
the first time since his accident, his poor dear nose made me so
squeamish I could not touch a morsel of dinner. However, they say it
will come right in time, but if it had been Thurlow’s dog and William’s
nose, George was wondering when he should have heard the last of it.
You will see our China news, which George thinks very good as far as it
goes. Charles Elliot is supposed again to have interfered too much
_against_ fighting, and to favour the Chinese pride as much as ever, and
the Army and Navy are both as bitter against him as the merchants; but
George is so thankful that our 2,000 men should have got out of the
scrape of attacking 47,000 without utter destruction, that he is rather
pleased. And then the million and a half of our money is a great point,
the more so that he has just heard that four million and a half of
dollars will be here in a week, just when money was most wanted.
I have had a long letter from Mrs. Elliot who had been at Canton before
this attack, and out shopping where no English lady ever shopped before.
She has picked up some curiosities of an expensive kind for George, and
some smaller ones for me, and Fanny has got a boxful from an American to
whom she gave a commission, and just because we want to unpack our
little goods, it is a Hindu holiday and the Custom House is shut. Do the
Hindu holidays annoy you much? But of course they do; we always felt
alike.
Poor Mrs. Elliot has had a trying life of it lately. She seems pleased
with this Canton business, and it is the best point at which Charles
could meet his recall. I imagine from some letters of his which George
showed me that it will not be a surprise to him, and he means to show
the world, etc., how right he has been. I foresee a long life of
pamphlets, don’t you?
No other English post come in, but I think we have quite satisfied
ourselves that the Whigs cannot stay and we shall go in February at
latest. I have heard from Captain Grey, to whom I wrote to ask what
accommodation he could give us in the _Endymion_. He says, smaller than
the _Jupiter_, but he thinks he can take us all. We shall be fewer by
Mars[507] married; Chance, dead; and Fop, William’s greyhound, also
dying of old age. I wonder whether we have only been here six years. I
imagine we are all dying of old age sometimes, and that we have been
here the usual Indian terms of twenty-one years.
_August 16, 1841._
The July post come in--the Elections all wrong, and so our going home is
certain. George sends his resignation by this post, and in February we
sail. God bless that dear post for bringing us such good news and so
quickly. I am still an excellent Whig, but there is much pleasure in
Opposition. And then the delight of going home! Good-bye, Sister; I’m
coming directly. Just stop one minute while I draw my ship up your
river. I really believe George is rather sorry, but he says not, and he
is an honourable man. Your affectionate
E. E.
[Captain Elliot had been unjustly blamed for the management of the
expedition to China. He was recalled by Lord Palmerston for
disobedience to his instructions, and on his return to England he
found Lord Aberdeen had become Foreign Secretary. Elliot’s
explanation of his conduct was satisfactory, and he completely
cleared his character.]
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
CALCUTTA,
_September 10, 1841._
MY DEAREST SISTER, I have never felt such unwillingness to set off
letter writing as this month, and it will be worse and worse and worsted
for the next three, and then I shall be ready to write a line to say we
are going on board, and after that I never mean to write to you
again--never. I am tired of it, and besides, mean to pass the rest of my
life with you. What a horrid prospect for you to find me always tugging
after you with a long languid Indian story, only diversified by requests
for a large fire and shut windows. I would not be you on any account.
Besides, think of the obtuseness with which we shall meet each other’s
topics. I beg to apprise you at once that I do not remember the
botanical name of any one single flower; so don’t expect it. I have gone
back to the old childishness of roses, wallflowers, and carnations, and
beyond that I cannot charge my memory.
I have been ornamenting the garden with some stone vases that the
natives make very prettily, and just at the proper moment, Fop,
William’s old greyhound, died, so I buried him _symmetrically_ opposite
to Chance, and Captain FitzGerald has put two ornamental vases over the
two dogs, with a slight tendency to the funereal urn about their design
for the consolation of my hurt feelings, and yet sufficiently like
flower vases to deceive the Tory Governor-General, so that he cannot be
spitefully tempted to pull them down again. Zoe, my new dog, is very
pretty and very small, but certainly with none of the genius of her
predecessor. In fact, between friends, she is rather dull, but she is
such a little helpless thing that nobody can help coaxing her, and I
could not expect two Chances in one life. George rather affections her,
though he says he thinks a black bottle full of hot water would be quite
as good as Zoe sitting on his lap, and full as lovely. Every morning in
the auction papers there is a list of “Europe toys” for children, and I
found one called a black cloth dog, defective, which is clearly another
Zoe for sale. However, all this is only a hypocritical jest. I am very
fond of her; and I assume you think that if anything happened to Dandy,
you would be obliged to try a successor. One wants something of the
sort.
Sir Jasper[508] and all the Nicolls family are on the point of setting
off for their march through India. Lady Nicolls has done it once before
and is fully awake to its horrors, and the young ladies do not like
leaving Calcutta, but Lady Nicolls looks so ill that it is lucky she is
going. They are a nice English family, and will be a loss here. The
married daughter from Madras arrived last week with the first
grandchild. Such a hideous little baby--but they are all in such
ecstasies with it. I went there this morning and found our Miss Nicolls
with the thermometer at 1000, I believe, walking up and down the room
with the baby, away from the punkah because they thought it made the
child sneeze. The perspiration was streaming down her face, and there
was old Sir Jasper in a white jacket snapping his fingers and saying,
Bow, wow, wow, and then rushing back to the punkah and saying he really
could not stand the heat, but perhaps the baby with her cold had better
not venture near the punkah. I believe the child was boiled; it looked
like it. I think I ought to be excused a few small sins for the merit of
going to the Nicolls this hot day.
There is an old blind General of 98 at Barrackpore, and his wife (who is
84) has just been couched, and sees with one eye, which is the only eye
they have between them, and now the old man is going to be couched, and
their pet doctor is ordered off with one of the marching regiments. They
applied for an exchange for the doctor, which Sir Jasper refused, and
the old lady came crying about it to Barrackpore last week; but I did
not think I could well ask for it. However, she wrote a moving letter
yesterday, and it is so hard at 90 and 80 to be thwarted in one of the
very few wishes one can form, that I took courage, and set off this
morning and expounded the case to Sir Jasper, who is very good-natured,
and I rather think will do what they want. Sir Henry Fane would have
snapped anybody’s nose right off who had asked him for any favour of the
sort. It will make the old Morleys very happy. The glare was so great
that I think I shall have to be couched too; but that, of course, the
doctor will do gratis. My eyesight is shockingly bad--I mean even for my
age--and I have a strong and decided preference for large print.
I quite forget what one does of an evening in England. Here we dine at
eight and go to bed at ten, so a short game at cards after coffee fills
up the time, and nobody can read by the flickering lights here. Perhaps
you will play at Beg-of-my-Neighbour with me; and then we shall step
out, and smell the night-blooming stock in that little round border by
the breakfast-room, and listen to the nightingales, and then go to bed,
and I hope you will tell the bearers not to go to sleep when they are
pulling the punkah in the company-room, because that wakes me.
Dear me! I sometimes feel very English just now, but ungainly, and with
an idea that you will all laugh at us. I remember so well seeing all the
Lowry Coles[509] debark at Lord de Grey’s from the Cape, and they were
very unlike other people, and had very odd bonnets on.
_September 15._
This must go. We have had a hard-working week,--a great farewell dinner
to the Nicolls, and then to attend a play which Sir Jasper bespoke, and
which lasted till near one. We luckily did not go till ten, but the
audience who had sat there since eight were nearly dead, and we were all
horribly hard-worked. Then I have been making a sketch of Dost Mahomed
and his family, and he set off this morning for the Upper Provinces,
leaving me with one of his nephews unsketched. So this morning, with
immense activity I got up early, and Colvin abstracted the nephew from
the steamer and brought him to sit for his picture before breakfast. The
nephew is very like the picture of Judas Iscariot. They are all very
Jewish, but he is a fine subject, and considering Colvin had had no
breakfast, he seemed to talk Persian with wonderful animation. Ever,
dearest Sister, yours most affectionately,
E. EDEN.
_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._
BARRACKPORE,
_October 8, 1841._
MY DEAREST SISTER, It is time to be writing again. Only three, or, at
most four times more. It makes me yawn and stretch, with a sort of
nervous shivering--just as one used to feel as a child the morning
before going to the play with the idea that by some particular mischance
_that_ day never would come to an end, or that the theatre would tumble
down, or somebody take our box. I have those theatrical misgivings and
yearnings about the next three or four months, and I wish the September
post would come, just to make sure that the new Governor-General[510] is
a man of active _packing_ habits. I want to go in February. They say now
that going in March makes such a long voyage. I think it is rather lucky
that this month’s news did not go home by last month’s mail. That sounds
Irish, because, as you justly observe, it is not so easy to advance a
month’s news as it might be a month’s allowance; but there is George
with his predatory habits up to the ears in preparation for a Burmese
war, and if that news had got home in time, the Court of Directors would
probably have made a strong objection to a change of rulers at the
beginning of a war.
It may still go off, but the villain [illegible] who is almost a savage,
has suddenly moved down to within 24 hours’ distance of our territories
with a horde of fifty thousand men, plenty of guns, boats, etc., and in
short, he looks full of mischief, all the more that he is egged on by
the Chinese. He may change his mind and take fright at the last minute,
but in the meanwhile he gives just as much trouble as if he had declared
war, and George has had a very busy week, ordering off regiments, taking
up transports, buying stores, etc., and as usual, if a thing has to be
done in a hurry, he has to _see to it_ all himself. He lives in a rage
with the slowness of the people whose real work it is, but by dint of
_aggravating_ them, he gets them through their work. I see the necessity
of sending out a fresh English head of affairs, with the English
constitution and habits of business, every five or six years. He keeps
all the poor languid Indians moving.
George was to have come up here yesterday, but he found the Captain of
the man-of-war and the Colonel of the regiment that are to start first
were making out that they could not possibly sail on Monday; so he sent
for them in the morning and made a row, and then asked them to dinner in
the evening to keep up the impression, and got some knowledgeable people
to meet them, and I suppose he will get them off in time. The Chinese
news is already better since Charles and Sir Gordon came away. Sir H.
Pottinger[511] began in the right way. The Chinese Commissioner wanted
to see him at Canton; he said it was the Commissioner’s place to come to
him at Macao. Now there is an expedition gone to Amoy. The Chinese by
their proclamations seem thoroughly frightened. The General and all the
Navy people seem to be in ecstasies at having somebody who will not stop
all their fighting, and I should not be the least surprised if Sir H.
Pottinger finished it all in six months, by merely making war in a
common straightforward manner.
I suppose Fanny has told you of all Mrs. Elliot’s anger, and her
expectations that Charles is to have titles and governments, etc., the
instant he lands in England. She is quite right, poor thing! to take his
part, though foolish to announce such expectations. But the change of
Ministry may be of use to him. Otherwise, there never was a man, meaning
well--which I really suppose he did--who has left such a fearful
character behind him with everybody but the Chinese, who profess the
greatest gratitude to him, as well they may. Your most affectionate
E. E.
[In March 1842, Lord Auckland and his sisters left India. After
their four months’ voyage they settled down in a little whitewashed
villa, Eden Lodge, Kensington Gore.
Lowther Lodge was built subsequently on this site, now occupied by
the Geographical Society.]