I suppose anything equal to the ill-treatment of Lord Melbourne never was known.
The Tories go on asserting, in the teeth of his advertised contradiction (for he was driven to that), that he dissolved the Government, and advised the Duke, etc. There is not a shadow of foundation for that. He went down to Brighton to propose the new Chancellor of the Exchequer, not anticipating any difficulty. His colleagues were all dining here that day, and were expecting him back perhaps in the evening, as he had so little to do! He found everything he said met by objection, and at last the King asked for a night’s consideration, and on Friday put a letter into Lord Melbourne’s hand, very civil personally to him, but saying he meant to send for the Duke.
Lord Melbourne never expressed any difficulty about carrying on the government; never complained of difficulties in the Cabinet, which do not exist; never advised a successor, – in short, it was as great a surprise to him as to the rest of the world, and as the Court Party go on saying the contrary, I mention this.
The truth is that that party – Lady T. Sydney, Miss D’Este, the Howes, Brownlows, etc., have all been working on his, the King’s, fears, and exacted a promise that when Lord Spencer422 died the King should try the Tories, which he has quite a right to do; but he should not have forced Lord Melbourne to take that office of great responsibility and then have dismissed him without any reason, or without Lord Melbourne’s making any difficulties, and he made none. I could convince you of this by several notes from him, besides the fact being now generally known. He says in one note: “I do not like to tell my story; I cannot. Besides, I hate to be considered ill-used; I have always thought complaints of ill-usage contemptible, whether from a seduced disappointed girl, or a turned out Prime Minister.” So like him! Our people have all been very cheerful this time, and it has been privately an amusing week.
Ours is the only official home left open, and as the poor things were all turned adrift, with nothing to do, and nowhere to go, they have dined here most days (I have found such a cook!), and several others have come in, in the evening.
Our plans are beautifully vague. We have no home, and no place, and no nothing; but as we have a right to a month’s residence after our successor is gazetted, and as he cannot be appointed for a fortnight, there is time enough to look about us. George leans to a place in the country large enough to give him some amusement, and that is cheaper than a small villa which I should rather prefer, but either would do very well. In short, I do not much care so as he pleases himself. We have esquivéd India, a constant source of pleasure to me, though I keep it snug, as he is rather disappointed at having missed it, so I must not seem so thankful as I am. I should like to go abroad for a few months, but the session will probably be an interesting one and he would not like to be out of the way. Your ever affectionate
E. E.
CHAPTER X
1835-1837
Lady Campbell to Miss Eden
July, 1835.
I HAVE really escaped with my life —I ain’t dead yet, but such a big monster of a girl!423– a regular Megalonia of a female, that if you happened to find a loose joint of hers you would think it must belong to an antediluvian Ox. Je vous demande un peu what am I to do with a seventh girl of such dimensions?
Well, my own darling, your letter came just as I was allowed to read, and it cheered me and delighted me, because you know we cannot help thinking just the same, and my weak sides shook with laughter, and then I cried because I do love you so much that I take a pining to see you, and I am sure you do long to have me within reach of your Ship Hotel or Ship Inn, for you are too wise to look upon it as more than your Hostelrie!..
Do you remember how we always liked a maxim? I like a maxim, and I like a good stout axiom, and a good compact system laid out straight without any exception in any rule, a good due North and South argument, and without any of your dippings of needle and variation of the compass. All this we had in the Tories – but, alas, where are they now? Ils ne sont plus ces jours, and I believe we are the Tories. I think that Lord Winchester, e tutti quanti, must feel like the old woman after her réveil when she found her petticoat cut off above the knee by that most clever pedlar Peel.
Do you ever see him now? What a fight Peel made of it, and as Plunkett424 said to me, “Alone he did it,” and I forgive him two or three sins, because, that tho’ he is a bad Chancellor, he loves the Immortal.
My dear, I grieve to say what a desperately good Chancellor Sugden made.425 Couldn’t we hire him? All parties liked him except the ultra-radical dreg of the canaille. He is vain and pompous; but he amused me because his vanity is of such a communicative nature that he would talk his character out to me by the hour, and I like any confession, even a fool’s. But a clever man’s is very amusing, and I pick out a bit of human nature and human character as attentively as I see botanists pick petals and pistils.
It is very good of Lord Auckland to stand for my girl. I really believe she is harmless, for she could knock me down, but she is merciful! What shall we call her? I had some thoughts of Rhinocera. She was born the day the Rhinoceros landed, or Cuvier,426 because I was reading his life and works just before she was born, and took a passion for him.
Might she not be called Eden? – Her other name is to be Madeline – her Godmother’s name…
My baby was christened Caroline Frances Eden, and I constantly call her Eden. I think it sounds very feminine and Eve-ish.
Miss Eden to Lady Campbell
ADMIRALITY,July 1835.
MY OWN DEAREST PAM, George wrote to tell you of the awful change in our destination,427 and I have been so worried, and have had so much to do with seeing and hearing the representations of friends, and taking leave of many who are gone out of town and whom I shall never see again, that I could not write.
Besides, what is there to say, except, “God’s will be done.” It all comes to that. I certainly look at the climate with dread, and to the voyage with utter aversion. Then, we leave a very happy existence here, and then, worst of all, we leave my sisters and a great many friends. But still, there is always another side to the question, and I suppose we shall find it in time. One thing is quite certain, I could not have lived here without George, so I may be very thankful that my health has been so good this year that I have no difficulty on that account, as to going with him. And as other people have liked India and have come back to say so, perhaps we shall do the same.
What I would give for a talk with you – that you might put it all in a cheerful light. It makes no difference in our affection or communion that has stood the test of such long absence that 14,000 miles more will not break it down.
I am going to-morrow for ten days to Mary [Drummond]; she is in a desperate way about our plans…
By all means stick an “Eden” into your child’s name. Your most affectionate
E. E.
Miss Eden to Lady Campbell
ADMIRALTY,[August] 1835.
My dearest Pam, Our letters crossed, and yours was just what I wanted, and you are as great a dear as ever, only I am never to be allowed to see you…
A week ago we began our preparations. You do not and cannot guess what that is – and I have despaired of writing you even a line – I never knew before really what it was to have no time. And besides the deep-seated real Indian calamity, you cannot think what a whirl and entanglement buying and measuring and trying on makes in one’s brain; and poor Goliath himself would have been obliged to lie down and rest if he had tried on six pairs of stays consecutively. We sometimes are three hours at a time shopping, and I could fling myself down and scratch the floor like a dog that is trying to make a feather bed of the boards when I come home.
It is so irritating to want so many things and such cold articles. A cargo of large fans; a silver busk, because all steel busks become rusty and spoil the stays; nightdresses with short sleeves, and net nightcaps, because muslin is too hot. Then such anomalies – quantities of flannel which I never wear at all in this cool climate, but which we are to wear at night there, because the creatures who are pulling all night at the Punkahs sometimes fall asleep. Then you wake from the extreme heat and call to them, then they wake and begin pulling away with such fresh vigour that you catch your death with a sudden chill. What a life! However, it is no use thinking about it.
My present aim in writing is to ask whether there is not anybody in or near Dublin who can make a sketch of you, something in the Edridge428 or Slater line, not very extravagant in price, and if you do not mind, sitting for it for me. I will send its price by Lord Morpeth, when he goes, and you must send it me either by a private hand, or if not, we can have it sent under cover to George, if it is carefully packed. Will you?
What do you think of the Lords? It is hardly possible to conceive such hopeless folly, and it is clear that they are the only living animals that cannot learn experience.
We shall be off in less than a month I believe, not that I believe anything somehow, – I feel too dreamy and bewildered. Your ever affect.
E. E.
Miss Eden to her Sister, Mrs. Drummond
ADMIRALTY,Saturday [September 1835].
My very dear Mary, Your note was a sad blow to me; but perhaps it is best that we should so have parted, and I am very thankful that we should have had this week together. I am thankful for many things – that we love each other so entirely; that you have a husband who has been so invariably kind to all of us, and whom I can love in return; and then, that your girls seem to me like real friends, and almost like my own children. All these are great goods and absence cannot touch them. God bless you, my darling Sister. Your ever affectionate
E. EDEN.
Lady Campbell to Miss Eden
CARTON,September 1, 1835.
I fear there is no good sketcher in Dublin, but there is a man who does paint something like a miniature, and does catch a likeness, and it shall be done for you next week, my darling. I never have you out of my mind a minute, and I always thought I should not be sorry if a change sent a Tory out instead of you… I feel cheerful about you because you are doing what is right, and only think what you would have been suffering now if you were seeing him prepared to go without you… Shall we take good in this world and not take the evil, our old compensations? You might have lived years without either you or George knowing how much you loved each other, and is there not an utter delight in this feeling of devotion twice blessed?
Let me know how I am to write to you, and how to send my letters. How little did I imagine when I read of India, and looked on those hot, misty, gorgeous Indian views, that I should ever garner up part of my heart there. I am staying here.429 I always like them, but there is a want of colour and life and impulse. There are many positive virtues present, and an absence of all vice and evil, but yet something is wanted. There is the dreaminess of Sleepy Hollow upon them.
Send me a bit of your hair, my darling, and always bear me in your “heart of hearts, as I do thee, Horatio.” I cannot believe it yet, nor do you, dearest, in spite of the preparations, and it is best you should not believe it till it is over…
It must be done, and so it had best be well done! and I will not hang to your skirts and make it harder for you to go forward and do right, only I felt all the love I have borne you for all these years choking me till I sobbed it well out, you whom I loved as my own sister… I was not surprised at it; I felt it would be, it was so like life – such a horrid piece of good fortune, such a painful bit of right to be done.
How right the Wise Men were to come from the East! Only, I should not have been particular about going back again; I had rather have stayed and sat in Herod’s back-parlour for the rest of my life.
When once it is over you will be very busy and very amused. Emmy, I mean to open an account with you. I mean to keep a letter always going to you, and so tell you every week what I am thinking about, because, you know, in India, without any vanity, I may be very sure my letters will be valuable. It will cool you to read anything coming from the damp West… I have been so eager about the Corporations, for Corporation in this Country means abomination! And when I heard them all spitting and scratching about the Tithe Bill, I thought what will they say to the Corporation Bill that sweeps so much farther.
There is a great deal of rage and fury fermenting here, but I think there will be no explosion. I own I am sorry to see that the fury of the Orangemen, tho’ it may not drive the lower orders of Protestants to fight, will, by making him fancy himself ill-used, persuade him to emigrate. Thousands are preparing to emigrate.
I do not hope to see Ireland better in my time, and it often makes me so sad, for I do love it with the love one feels towards the child that is most weak, most sick.
Miss Eden to Mrs. Lister
ADMIRALTY,Thursday, September 1835.
MY DEAREST THERESA, I was very near you yesterday, and at the time I had appointed, but my heart failed me about taking leave for so long a time, and as I took one of those fits of lowness which sometimes come over me now (partly from real bodily fatigue), I saw I should do nothing but cry if I went to you, and that would be hard upon you and tiresome withal. Besides, taking leave is at the best of times a hateful process, so I would not go to you. And now, God bless you and yours, my very dear friend. I daresay when I come back I shall find you just what you are now, and yours very much increased in number and size.
Be sure to write to me a fortnight at the very latest after you see our departure announced, and put your letter under cover to Lord Auckland, Government House, Calcutta, and put it in the common post, if that is more convenient to you. Otherwise, if you can find anybody to frank it to Captain Grindlay, 16 Cornhill, he is our agent, and will at all times take charge of letters and parcels for us. Pray give my best love and wishes to Mrs. Villiers. Ever your affectionate
E. E.
Miss Eden to Mrs. Lister
ADMIRALTY,September 1835.
MY DEAREST THERESA, I have received your pretty bracelet with tears, which is a foolish way of accepting what is very dear to me, but every day my heart grows more sore, and I look with greater despondency to an utter separation from such kind friends as mine have proved themselves. I did not need anything, dearest, to remind me of you. Our friendship has happily, as far as I remember, been entirely free from even those little coolnesses and irritations which will mix sometimes with the closest intimacies. I cannot recollect the slightest tiff between us, and therefore I have no fears of the effect of absence, but still the absence itself is most painful. And your bracelet will then be an actual comfort to me, and besides thinking it so particularly pretty in itself, I am glad that it is one that I may wear constantly without fear of injuring it. I have put it on my arm, and there it will stay, I hope, till we meet again.
I am just setting off to Eastcombe to fetch home Fanny, who will be delighted with your recollection of her. To-morrow we are to go to the Jupiter to settle the arrangements of our cabins, but Wednesday, late in the day, we will go to Knightsbridge.
God bless you, my very dear friend. Many thanks for this and all the many kindnesses you have shown me. Your ever affectionate
E. E.
Lord Melbourne to Miss Eden
SOUTH STREET,September 24, 1835.
My Mother always used to say that I was very selfish, both Boy and Man, and I believe she was right – at least I know that I am always anxious to escape from anything of a painful nature, and find every excuse for doing so. Very few events could be more painful to me than your going, and therefore I am not unwilling to avoid wishing you good-bye. Then God bless you – as to health, let us hope for the best. The climate of the East Indies very often re-establishes it.
I send you a Milton, which I have had a long time, and often read in. I shall be most anxious to hear from you and promise to write. Adieu. Yours,
MELBOURNE.
King William IV. to Miss Eden
WINDSOR CASTLE,September 26, 1835.
The King cannot suffer Miss Eden to quit this country without thanking her for the letter she wrote to Him on the 24th inst., and assuring her of the satisfaction with which He received it.
His Majesty has long been aware of the sincere attachment which exists between Lord Auckland and his amiable Sisters, and of his anxiety for their Welfare and happiness, and he gives him credit for this exemplary feature of his character, not less than He does for the ability and correct zeal with which he has discharged his Public Duties.
Lord Auckland’s conduct at the Admiralty has indeed been so satisfactory to the King, that it is impossible He should not regret his Removal from that Department, though His Majesty trusts that the Interests of the Country have been consulted in his nomination to the high and important Situation of Governor-General of India, and sincerely hopes that it may conduce to his own advantage and satisfaction.
His Majesty is not surprised that Miss Eden and her Sister should have determined to accompany so affectionate a Brother even to so remote a destination, and He is sensible how much their Society must contribute to his comfort, for the uninterrupted continuance of which, and of their welfare, He assures them of His best Wishes.
WILLIAM R.
[The end of September 1835 Lord Auckland, his two sisters, his nephew William Godolphin Osborne, their six servants, and Chance the dog, started on a five-months’ voyage in a sailing-ship to India. Miss Eden described in her book, Letters from India, their many adventures on board ship, and her impressions of life in Calcutta. Her water-colour sketches of Funchal, Rio in Brazil, Cape Town, and her “Portraits of Princes and Natives,” make excellent illustrations to all the long letters written during her six years’ absence from England.
In 1916 an Exhibition of Miss Eden’s paintings, chosen and arranged by Mr. F. Harrington, was held at Belvidere, Calcutta, the first sketch mentioned in the catalogue being that of Chance.
“I had such a pretty present this morning, at least rather pretty. It is a baby-elephant, nine months old, caught at Saharanpur by the jemadar of the mahouts, and he has been educating it for me, and offered it by way of Captain D., his master. William and I have been looking about for some time for a gigantic goat for Chance to ride on great occasions, but a youthful elephant is much more correct, and is the sort of thing Runjeet’s dogs will expect. It just comes up to my elbow, seems to have Chance’s own little bad temper and his love of eating, and is altogether rather like him.”]
Miss Eden to Lady Campbell
N. Lat. 17, Long. 21,February 18, 1836.
MY DEAREST PAM, I got William to write to you from the Cape, as we were in a flurry of writing, visiting, and surveying Africa, and he had more time, having been there before. We have had a very smooth sea, and I can read and draw and write, and as we all are perfectly well, there is not much to complain of, except of the actual disease – a long voyage, which is a very bad illness in itself, but we have had it in the mildest form and with every possible mitigation. At the same time I cannot spare you the detail of all our hardships, and I know you will shudder to hear that last Saturday, the fifth day of a dead calm, not a cloud visible, and the Master threatening three weeks more of the same weather, the thermometer at 86 in the cabin, – tempers on the go and meals more than ever the important points of life, – at this awful crisis the Steward announced that the coffee and orange-marmalade were both come to an end.
No wonder the ship is so light, we have actually ate it a foot out of the water since we left the Cape. “Nasty Beasts,” as Liston says. Your lively imagination will immediately guess how bad the butter is, and I mention the gratifying fact that two small pots of Guava Jelly and the N.E. Monsoon sprung up on Monday, and we hope their united forces may carry us to the Sandheads.
I never could like a sea life, nor do I believe that anybody does, but with all our grumbling about ours, we could not have been 19 weeks at sea, with so few inconveniences. Captain Grey is an excellent seaman, and does more of the work of his ship than is usual. The officers and midshipmen have acted several times for our diversion, and remarkably well.
The serious drama, Ella Rosenberg, was enough to kill one. Ella’s petticoats were so short, and her cap with her plaits of oakum always would fall off when she fainted away, and a tall Quartermaster, who acted the confidant, would call her Hella, and never caught her in time!
Some of the sailors were heard talking over the officers’ acting, and saying, “They do low comedy pretty well, but they do not understand how to act the gentleman at all.”
How little we thought in old Grosvenor Street days, when we sat at the little window listening to the organ-man playing “Portrait charmant” while the carriage was adjusting itself at the door, that we should be parted in such an out-sea-ish sort of way. That in the middle of February, when we ought to be shivering in a thick yellow fog, George and I should be established on a pile of cushions in the stern window of his cabin, he without his coat, waistcoat, and shoes, learning Hindoostanee by the sweat of his brow. I, with only one petticoat and a thin dressing-gown on, a large fan in one hand and a pen in the other, and neither of us able to attend to our occupations because my little black spaniel will yap at us, to make us look at the shark which is playing “Portrait charmant” to two little pilot-fish close under the window.
I should like to go back to those Grosvenor St. days again. I have had so much time for thinking over old times lately, that I never knew my own life thoroughly before. I can quite fancy sometimes that if we could think in our graves (and who knows), my thoughts would be just what they are now – the same vivid recollections of former friends and scenes, and the same yearning to be with them again. There is hardly anything you and I have talked over, that has not come to life in my mind again, and I could wring my hands, and tear my hair out, to go back and do it all over again.
The cottage at Boyle Farm, W. de Roos’s troubles, Henry Montagu, the Sarpent,430 even that old Danford431 with the wen, Mrs. Shepherd and the Hossy Jossies. Dear me! Did I ever have jollier days with anybody or love anybody better?
Do write and tell me all about yourself now, and your children – I don’t half know them. There is a tassel of small ones, like the tassel at the end of a kite’s tail, that I know nothing about – not even their names. Tell me all their histories. There is an Emily,432 I know. What shall I send her from Calcutta if we ever arrive there? It is now five months since we have been travelling away from letters, and I feel such hot tears come into my eyes when I think of…
Monday, February 29, 1836.– I thought we should have been coming home with our fortunes made by this time, but we are still within a hundred miles of the Sandheads. At this precise moment we are at anchor in green water, so different to the deep blue sea, near some shoals, which is advantageous, because we can pick up our petticoats and pick our way to land.
Thursday. In the Hooghly.– At last, by dint of very great patience and very little wind, we have arrived, got the pilot on board early yesterday morning, saw Saugur, which looks as if it had been gnawed to the bone by the tigers that live on it. We are surrounded by boats manned by black people, who, by some strange inadvertance, have utterly forgotten to put on any cloaks whatever. We have a steamer towing us, a civil welcome from Sir C. Metcalfe;433 a Prince of Oudh, who has been deposed by an undutiful nephew, and deprived of several lacs of rupees, asking for his Excellency, well knowing that the first word even in Hindoostanee is valuable, which is so much his Excellency’s opinion, that he wisely refuses to hear it, and, above all, we have received a profusion of letters from home, ten fat ones for my own share. Nothing unpleasant in them, which, considering some are dated five weeks after we left England, is something to be thankful for.
Cecilia de Roos’s434 marriage; and poor old Lady Salisbury,435 it somehow seems as if nothing but fire could destroy her. I am going down to look over the box that contains the dresses in which we are to appear at our first Drawing-room to-morrow, and my blonde gown may, and in all probability will, come out quite yellow and fresh-patterned by the cockroaches. Your most affectionate
E. EDEN.
Miss Eden to Mrs. Lister
BARRACKPORE,March 24, 1836.
MY DEAREST THERESA, In the utter bewilderment in which I live, from having more to do in the oven than I could get through comfortably in a nice bracing frost, I quite forget whether I wrote to you on my first arrival. I sent off so many letters, necessarily precisely like one another, that I have forgotten all about them, except that they announced our arrival after a five months’ voyage, and that we were in all the nervousness of a first arrival in a hot land of strangers.
We have been here three weeks to-day, and are so accustomed to our way of life that I cannot help thinking we have been here much longer, and that it is nearly time to go home again. It is an odd dreamy existence in many respects, but horribly fatiguing realities breaking into it. It is more like a constant theatrical representation going on; everything is so picturesque and so utterly un-English. Wherever there is any state at all it is on the grandest scale. Every servant at Government House is a picture by himself, in his loose muslin robes, with scarlet and gold ropes round his waist, and his scarlet and gold turban over masses of black hair; and on the esplanade I hardly ever pass a native that I do not long to stop and sketch – some in satin and gold, and then perhaps the next thing you meet is a nice English Britschka with good horses driven by a turbaned coachman, and a tribe of running footmen by its side, and in it is one of the native Princes, dressed just as he was when he first came into the world, sitting cross-legged on the front seat very composedly smoking his hookah.
Then, after passing a house that is much more like a palace than anything we see in England, we come to a row of mud-thatched huts with wild, black-looking savages squatting in front of them, little black native children running up and down the cocoa-trees above the huts, and no one appearance of civilization that would lead one to guess any European had ever set foot on the land before. The next minute we may come to a palace again, or to a regiment of Sepoys in the highest state of discipline, or to a body burning on the river-shore, or another body floating down the river with vultures working away at it. Then, if George is with us, we may meet a crowd of white-muslined men who begin by knocking their heads against the ground, and then give their long petitions (asking for some impossibility) in the Hindustani language, or else an English petition, which is apparently a set of words copied from some dictionary. No sense whatever – otherwise an excellent petition.
I have described our Calcutta house and household so often that I cannot do it again. It is all very magnificent, but I cannot endure our life there. We go there on Monday morning before breakfast. We have great dinners of 50 people, “fathers and mothers unknown,” to say nothing of themselves. Every Monday and Wednesday evening Fanny and I are at home to anybody who is on what is called the Government House List. What that is I cannot say; the Aides-de-Camp settle it between them, and if they are the clever young men I hope they are, they naturally place on it the ladies most agreeable to themselves.
On Thursday morning we also receive any people who chance to notify themselves the day before. The visiting-time is from ten to one in the mornings, and we found it so fatiguing to have 100 or 120 people at that time of day that we have now chosen Tuesday evenings and Thursday mornings, and do not mean to be at home the rest of the week. There are schools to visit, and ceremonies half the week. Yesterday we had an examination at Government House of the Hindu College, and the great banqueting-hall was completely filled with natives of the higher class. Some of the boys in their gorgeous dresses looked very well, reciting and acting scenes from Shakespeare. It is one of the prettiest sights I have seen in Calcutta. On Thursday afternoon we always come here, and a prodigious pleasure it is. It feels something like home. It is sixteen miles from Calcutta, on the river-side. A beautiful fresh green park, a lovely flower-garden, a menagerie that has been neglected; but there is a foundation of a tiger and a leopard and two rhinoceros’, and we can without trouble throw in a few light monkeys and birds to these heavy articles. It is much cooler here, and we can step out in the evening and walk a few hundred yards undisturbed.
Then, though we ask a few of the magnates of the land, and a wife or a daughter or so each time, they are lodged in separate bungalows in the park, and never appear but at luncheon and dinner, and are no trouble. We are so many in the family naturally, that seven or eight more or less make no difference at those times, and I take a drive or a ride on the elephant alone with George very regularly.