Letters from India Volume II/From the Hon E Eden to Blank 2
Government House, 1837,
(Begun October 25, ended October 80.)
At the least possible distance that picture is very like you—exactly like, most of us think. Near, there is certainly something slightly absurd. in the colouring of that man’s drawings. It is Fleet-Streetish, but yet the likenesses are very remarkable; and, sitting as I am at this table, with your picture on that table close by the wall, it is really a most refreshing sight. It might be you, only it is not. The pleasure with which I have torn up that horrid crooked vulgar thing he did at first is great. I never dared look much at it, as I am not likely to have my impression of you corrected by yourself for some years; but this other is really satisfactory, and I only hope the white ants will not nibble all round it as they have round Mr. ’s. The degree of destructiveness of this climate it is impossible to calculate, but there is something ingenious in the manner in which the climate and the insects contrive to divide the work. One cracks the bindings of the books, the other eats up the inside; the damp turns the satin gown itself yellow, and the cockroaches eat up the net that trims it; the heat splits the ivory of a miniature, and the white maggots eat the paint; and so they go on helping each other and never missing anything. We have arrived at very nice weather, though, comparatively speaking, I cannot guess how it would be in England—I suppose very hot, for we are still living under the punkahs—but there are chilly bits in the day, in which old Indians go shivering about in great coats and try to look blue. Poor things! they only look yellow, but it pleases them to think they are cold.
Last night we came down from Barrackpore by moonlight, greatly to Dr. Drummond’s horror, as he insisted upon it that the dew would carry us all off, and he wanted me in particular to stay until the morning. But the fog is worse under the trees than anywhere, so I came down by water in ’s boat; and, as it has been launched only three days, it is at present in the highest favour, and they get up at five in the morning to row; and last night, as there was a moon brighter than an English sun, we set off at nine and came down here just in the same time as the carriage, which was much to the credit of the gentlemen’s rowing. Their boat and their sailors’ dresses look so English and well among all the odd-shaped budgerows and natives on the river. My name is worked in gold and black in so many different directions that I feel concerned; it will become a by-word on the river.
I give up the system I maintained at first—that there was not more illness here than in other. places. I suppose it tells more at the end of the hot weather, but just now it is melancholy to see the fidget of bad health that is going on. It is impossible to get a cabin on board the steamers and pilot schooners that take people to be rolled about at the Sandheads for the recovery of their healths. It is a melancholy country for wives at the best, and I strongly advise you never to let your girls marry an East Indian. There was a pretty Mrs. dining here yesterday, quite a child in look, who married just before the ‘Repulse’ sailed, and landed here about ten days ago. She goes on next week to Meemuch, a place at the farthest extremity of India, where there is not another European woman, and great part of the road to it is through jungle, which is only passable occasionally from its unwholesomeness. She detests what she has seen of India, and evidently begins to think ‘papa and mamma’ were right in withholding for a year their consent to her marriage. I think she wishes they had held out another month. There is another, Mrs. , only fifteen, who married when we were at the Cape, and came from there at the same time we did, and went straight on to her husband’s station, where for five months she had never seen an European. He was out surveying all day, and they lived in a tent. She has utterly lost her health and spirits, and, though they have come down here for three weeks’ furlough, she has never been able even to call here. He came to make her excuse, and said, with a deep sigh, ‘Poor girl! she must go back to her solitude. She hoped she could have gone out a little in Calcutta to give her something to think of.’ And then, if these poor women have the comfort of children, they must send them away just as they become amusing. It is an abominable place. I do not mean so much for us, who come for a short time and can have a fleet, or an army to take us anywhere for change of air if we have pains in our sides, but for people who earn their bread in India, and must starve if they give it up.
We are all quite well, George remarkably so. Everybody says he looks much better than when he landed. I do not see that, but he certainly is very well and happy.
We are all full of fancy-ball preparations, which is an excellent topic. I dare say our dresses will be lovely, but hitherto I have not been able to hear of any possible material to make mine of.
Love to all.
Yours most affectionately,
E. E.