Ekbal-ood-Dowdah, Nawaub of Oude (his name and title) is at present appealing to the English against his uncle, who usurps his throne by the aid and countenance of the East India company. The Mohammedan law, as I understand, empowers a king to choose his successor from his children without reference to primogeniture, and the usurper, though an elder brother, having been imbecile from his youth, Ekbal’s father was selected by the then king of Oude to succeed him. The question having been referred to Lord Wellesley, however, then governor of India, he decided that the English law of primogeniture should prevail, or in other words—as the king’s friends say—preferred to have for the king of a subject province an imbecile who would give him no trouble. So slipped from the Nawaub’s hands a pretty kingdom of six millions of faithful Mohammedans! I believe this is the “short” of the story. I wonder (we are reproached so very often by the English for our treatment of the Indians) whether a counter-chapter of “expedient wrong” might not be made out from the history of the Indians under British government in the East.
Dinner was announced with a Hindostanee salaam, and the King gave his arm to Lady ——. The rest of us “stood not upon the order of our going,” and I found myself seated at table between my wife and a Polish Countess, some half-dozen removes from the Nawaub’s right hand. His Highness commenced helping those about him most plentifully from a large pillau, talking all the while most merrily in broken English, or resorting to Hindostanee and his interpreter whenever his tongue got into trouble. With the exception of one or two English joints, all the dishes were prepared with rice or saffron, and (wine being forbidden by the Mohammedan law,) iced water was served round from Indian coolers freely. For one, I would have compounded for a bottle of wine by taking the sin of the entire party on my soul, for, what with the exhaustion of a long London day, and the cloying quality of the Nawaub’s rich dishes, I began to be sorry I had not brought a flask in my pocket. His Majesty’s spirits seemed to require no aid from wine. He talked constantly, and shrewdly, and well. He impresses every one with a high estimate of his talents, though a more complete and undisguised child of nature I never saw. Good sense, with good humor, frankness, and simplicity, seem to be his leading qualities.
We were obliged to take our leave early after dinner, having other engagements for the evening, but while coffee was serving, the Hindostanee cook, a funny little old man, came in to receive the compliments of the company upon his dinner, and to play and dance for His Majesty’s amusement. He had at his back a long Indian drum, which he called his “tum tum,” and playing himself an accompaniment upon this, he sang two or three comic songs in his own language to a sort of wild yet merry air, very much to the delight of all the orientals. Singer, dancer, musician, and cook, the king certainly has a jewel of a servant in him.
One moment bowing ourselves out from the presence of a Hindoo king, and the next beset by an Irishman with “Heaven bless your honor for the sixpence you mean to give me!” what contrasts strike the traveller in this great heart of the world! Paddy lighted us to our carriage with his lantern, implored the coachman to “dhrive carefully,” and then stood with his head beat to catch the sound upon the pavement of another sixpence for his tenderness. Wherever there is a party in the fashionable quarters of London, these Tantaluses flit about with their lanterns—for ever at the door of pleasure, yet shivering and starving for ever in their rags. What a life!
One of the most rational and agreeable of the fashionable resorts in London is Kensington Gardens, on the days when the royal band plays, from five to seven o’clock, near the bridge of the Serpentine. Some twenty of the best instrumental musicians of London station themselves under the trees in this superb park—for though called “gardens,” it is but a park with old trees and greensward—and up and down the fine silky carpet stroll hundreds of the fashionables of “May Fair and Belgrave Square,” listening a little, perhaps, and chattering a great deal certainly. It is a good opportunity to see what celebrated beauties look like by daylight; and, truth to say, one comes to the conclusion, there, that candle-light is your true Kalydor. It is very ingeniously contrived by the grand chamberlain that this public music should be played in a far-away corner of the park, inaccessible except by those who have carriages. The plebeians, for whose use and pleasure it seems at first sight graciously contrived, are pretty well sifted by the two miles walk, and a very aristocratic and well-dressed assembly indeed is that of Kensington Gardens.
Near the usual stand of the musicians runs a bridle path for horsemen, separated from the greensward by a sunk fence, and as I was standing by the edge of the ditch yesterday, the Queen rode by, pulling up to listen to the music, and smile right and left to the crowd of cavaliers drawn up in the road. I pulled off my hat and stood uncovered instinctively, but looking around to see how the promenaders received her, I found to my surprise that with the exception of a bald-headed nobleman whom I chanced to know, the Yankee stood alone in his homage to her.
| [2] | I can record—now fifteen years after—that, in six years from that time, he had become the conductor of a Scientific Review, in London. |