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 Todd[506] 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.