Letters from India Volume II/To Blank 1
TO
We are very quiet always the latter half of our Calcutta weeks, as we get over the dinners on Mondays, the balls on Tuesdays, and the rest of the time is very comfortable, and quiet is particularly acceptable this weather. This last fortnight before the rains, which are supposed to begin about June 10, is very unpleasant, so utterly breathless. The thermometer in the shade and the dark, but in the open air, is 105°; and what it is to those who drive through the sun they say nobody can conceive. Government House is the admiration of our visitors; it is so well shut and cooled this year. The thermometer is 87° in my room, and I have discovered an accidental draft in the Marble Hall, where the wind comes down one of the corridors, cooled by the tatties, and where Fanny and I have sat all this week without a punkah; the draft is so strong Major said it was very unwholesome, and that Lady William never sat there, which I assured him must simply have been because she never had the luck to find out this curious draft; upon which he sent the doctor to say how prejudicial it must be; but the doctor found it so pleasant that he drew in an arm-chair and thought it much the best place in the house.
Major is a remarkably sly old fox. Fanny and I have often observed it, and we constantly find him out now. He manages us in a sly, pleasant way, buttering and smoothing, but he sees through everybody and provides accordingly.
A shocking piece of foxishness I detected to-day which will be the utter wreck of my happiness. George’s head servant, who claims the title of ‘the nazir’ and who was a treasure in his way, went to his own house at Dacca to try to get rid of a Bengal fever, which had baffled Dr. Drummond. He had leave of absence for two months, and he has now been gone four, and, as he was always consumptive, it is obvious that the poor dear nazir is dead. I got Major to write to him, and no answer is come; so I told him to be making arrangements for a new one, as amongst the twenty other servants who wait in George's passage there is not one who speaks a word of English. I cannot think how he has put up so long with the extreme inconvenience. I followed to George’s room after breakfast to settle this important point, and found him actually proposing to George to take my jemadar, that jewel of a man! who speaks English perfectly, and is my stay and support—matches my gowns and sashes, washes up my painting box, and takes care of everything I have, money included. I said yesterday before him that I was going to model something George wanted, and when I went to my room I found some clay prepared and a board and all my tools and even some print books; it is just the same about everything, and I am convinced that a good native servant is the best in existence. The bad are perhaps very bad. George has always envied me this man, and he said when I came in, ‘Here is Miss Eden, but you might just as well propose to her to cut the nose off her face as to give me that man.’ However, I always intended giving him to George if the vacancy occurred, as in going up the country he will save George an immense deal of trouble, and then it would be hard if his extreme merit stood in the way of his promotion. The nazir is the highest servant in the house, and paid accordingly. ‘Yes, I think Miss Eden had better give him to your Lordship,’ Major said; ‘you will find him invaluable on the march; there is not such another man in the house, and if I take in a stranger he may be a man who will take bribes from the natives; and the jemadar knows your Lordship’s habits. Your Lordship has no time to waste on a new servant, and Miss Eden has plenty of time and can easily form a new good servant.’ ‘Oh, dear no!’ I said; ‘there never was such a mistake. I always told Lord Auckland he might have my jemadar, because he likes him so much; but I really will not have any of your horrid strangers, who will steal all my goods, and take no care of Chance, and let the embroiderers dawdle over their work, and put too much wine into the seltzer-water. I really can’t what you call “form” a new servant. I will have my chobdar’ (that is the next in command) ‘for the new jemadar.’—‘No, I think not; he is not of the proper class—not authority enough, and he cannot wait at table.—‘ Then I will have one of my own kitmutgars.’—‘ No; they do not speak English. I have one or two men in my eye whom I have always wished to put on the Government House establishment; they speak good English and you can teach them to be good servants, and it is a great advantage to all succeeding Governors-General to find these kind of men in the house.’ That was the unkindest cut of all. I do not the least care about the comfort of the future Governor-General’s lady, and Major is always looking at the establishment in that general point of view. You, who only see Mr. Gooby or James when you ring for them and are happy in a climate which enables you to pick up your own pocket-handkerchief and cut your own pencil, and where you can speak without an interpreter—you cannot imagine how utterly our comfort depends on the tact of these people, who never lose sight of us, and who have a crowd of subordinates to keep in order, who do not understand a word we say. If Major drives me into taking a stranger I think I shall make it a condition that the new man shall write my journal to you. It is the only real action of my life that I contrive to perform for myself, and in another year I should hardly be up to it in the hot season. Besides, I am sure the change will be amusing to you. And in the meantime I trust the nazir will come to life again. Major has written now to the resident at Dacca to find out.
We had some few letters of January and the first week in February and a newspaper of February 15. The ministers seem to be making a good start, which is satisfactory. All our next letters must be quite novelties, as we have now passed the date of any overland packet.
There never was such a day; we had nothing like it last year. Even in the evening we were for the first time unable to bear the window open; the hot wind or steam was so oppressive, and none of us could go out. We played at chess a four-handed game by way of resting our eyes. It is the first time George has found it impossible to get on with his business.
I will send this off to-day. The heat is worse than ever and the furniture cracking in all directions. People say it must end in an awful storm. The natives feel the weather even more than we do; two coolies who were bringing milk here yesterday dropped down dead in the sun. We are all, however, very well, and my health is quite come round again.
says she does not get my letters, which absolutely breaks my heart, because I live in a state of writing gratitude to her; but I suppose she will get them all at last. That great supply of books you sent us is such a comfort. They will last us two months more.
God bless you! Love to all.