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 Ghazni496 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 Admiral497 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.
Charles498 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. Cotton500 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 Rosina501 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 Bremer502 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 Charles503 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 Amherst504 made a magnificent garden all round the house, which stands in the centre of what we call a huge compound. Lady William505 [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 Todd506 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.