Letters from India Volume II/To Blank 5
I wonder none of you wrote about Miss Martineau’s ‘Deerbrook.’ Such a very interesting book. It is a long time since I have had a novel that I could not leave off, and I have been reading this ever since breakfast—quite at the wrong time of day, only there is always the comfort at Calcutta, if one does anything ever so wrong, of saying it is too hot to do anything else. ‘Deerbrook’ has swallowed me up alive. It would have been so exciting in foolish days. She certainly writes like an angel. I am so glad I have a whole volume more to read, and that ‘it will be too hot to do anything else’ whenever I like to read it. It is not really overpoweringly hot yet, and the evenings are very pleasant, and may last so to the end of the month, they say.
We had one of our largest dinners yesterday—at least fifty people, which is enough, as most of them are strangers.
I have finished ‘Deerbrook,’ which is a pity. It certainly is a very original book.
We cannot succeed in dressing ourselves at all. wrote to two or three of the principal sale-rooms to desire they might be kept open for us from five to six, and he and Fanny, Captain Hill and I went out shopping when it got cool. It was rather amusing to see a shop again, particularly as these contain all sorts of things, like American stores; but as for making ourselves smart, the thing is impossible.
We went last night to the play, which we had bespoken. No punkahs and a long low room with few windows; it is impossible to say what the heat was, but the acting was really excellent; I never saw better. We stayed only for one farce—‘Naval Engagements’—and, notwithstanding the heat, laughed all the time. There is a nephew of Joseph Hume’s, a lawyer, who acts very well, and Stocqueler, the editor of one of the papers, is quite as good as Farren. I wish it were possible to have a cool theatre; a good farce is the only real amusement in this country.
We had one of our visiting evenings last night, and they go off wonderfully. The clergymen and their families all come, sure not to be shocked by dancing; and I filled the great Marble Hall with sofas and ottomans and all the print books and my sketch-books; and the people sat in groups, not all of a row, and George and Sir Jasper got their whist, and it was all over by half-past ten, and they all walked off saying ‘these early little soirées are quite the thing for the climate, and it is quite a pleasure to see Government House so gay again.’ Such gaiety! Oh my!
George gave a farewell dinner to the Cameronians yesterday. They are off for China to-morrow, and we had all the chief authorities to meet them—seventy people. Fanny and I. excused ourselves, and picked up a few of the crumbs that fell from their table, and had a quiet evening. The soldiers all rather like this expedition.
I suppose the weather is very hot out, but hitherto we have kept this house wonderfully cool—our visitors say much too cold. I am afraid that will not be the complaint next month, but in the meanwhile it is all so clean and so solid and so gentlemanlike, and it is such a pleasure to be settled, and then I sleep so comfortably in the mornings (Wright has to wake me regularly), that I never felt so kind to Calcutta. That is the good of contrast. If it had not been for the fatigue of the march it might have been objectionable; I like a good long sleep, don’t you?
Last night was the Town Hall ball. We made ourselves, with much trouble and infinite expense, very smart at last. The ball was very pretty—everything covered with F’s and E’s and the staircases turned into bowers with real singing birds, who never ceased singing. They were a sort of nightingale who surpass any bird I ever heard. There were very few masks; nobody could keep them on; some handsome fancy dresses. Some of the ladies and gentlemen acted the ‘Bear and the Bashaw’ on a small temporary theatre, and acted very well. That helped on the evening wonderfully to non-dancers, and we stayed till one very contentedly.
I have given up morning church during the hot season; even five minutes of the sun is enough to knock people up for a week, and then at Calcutta they always read the whole. service with three hymns, instead of the short service with no singing, which everywhere else in India is the custom. It keeps half the ladies away from church, as very few can sit through it. We went to the Fort Church at night, and had an excellent sermon from the Archdeacon.
We had such a large dinner at the Nicoll’s yesterday, but rather lively for one of those State dinners, and Sir Jasper likes his whist; so George and I had that consolation in the evening. I think I shall end, like Aunt Moore, with a decided wish for my rubber in the evening with ‘Brother’ and ‘Cousin Margaret,’ only the more I play, the worse I play.
I quite forgot to mention that in the ship ‘Repulse,’ which sailed last week, I sent off my four beautiful hill pheasants, addressed to Mr . They arrived only two days before in perfect health; and Mr. Frazer, an old friend of ours, promised to look after them and to let his servant do so. Moreover I sent on board a quantity of grain for their food, and gave the butcher of the ship a guinea to take care of them, supposing Mr. Frazer and his servant would probably be sea-sick. Therefore everything has been done for them that native art and Frazer can divine, and they ought to reach home alive; but I suppose they won’t, as none ever have. George wanted me very much to send them to the Zoological, but I know I promised them to your boy, and I am sure he will like them. All they want is to have their coop moved from one ground to another, as they live by scratching up the earth; and of course when snow is cheap they might like a taste, as they lived on the snowy range, and hardly ever came so low as Simla. They will bear to be driven, but not to be handled.
We went by water to the Botanical Garden yesterday evening; sent some dinner and the band and asked several to go with us, and it answered very well. We had light enough to let Lord Jocelyn say he had seen the Garden. Then dined under a banian-tree, and then sat on the grass by the river-side under such a beautiful moon, and sang glees and duets and all sorts of old-fashioned songs till ten o’clock, and then we came home in the ‘Soonamookie,’ and it was a very good change from the usual evenings.
This time twelvemonth we ought to be nearly half-way home. It really will be too delightful. Love to all.