[Footnote 57: A kilogramme is equal to 2 lb. 3 oz. and 4 drms.]
This was said in English. I had not yet opened my mouth. I thought I would appease my irascible fat man by speaking to him in his own tongue. "Come, come," said I, "no one here has any intention of laughing at the French." My man instantly drew in his horns, stammering three or four syllables which I could not understand. "Magical effect of the mother tongue!" thought I; and ten yards further on, in order to perfect a good understanding between us, I began again to address him in French on any subject that presented itself. He looked at me with mouth and eyes open. Supposing that he had not heard what I said, I repeated it. He was then forced to confess that he did not know a word of French; that he was an Irishman, an old soldier. In short, he was an original, well known in the country by his eccentricity, and styling himself the hero of 132 fights. Now retired from the service, he is writing his exploits in a little diary full of fun and humor. He detests England, loves France in general, and attacks all Frenchmen in particular. Once at his ease, after his candid confession, he took to chatting, and talked so much and so well that we forgot the jolting of the carriage, and even the lofty and magnificent trees that, fringe the road.
After some winding about, and after passing a great number of Indian huts, and meeting hundreds of Hindoos loaded each with a great pitcher of water, here we are at last in a street. Rue de Paris, if you please: long and dirty, and ill aired; nothing remarkable; let us pass on. Rue Neuve, in ruins. Rue des Grands Escaliers, so narrow that the slightest staircase before a door would block it up completely. Let us go on, turn to the left, and here we are at the river side. Here all is large and wide—quay, river, houses, gardens. Without stopping now, let us go on immediately to the end of the quay, where we shall rest and refresh ourselves in a friendly house. It deserves that name in three ways, for, 1st, it was formerly the house of God, an ancient chapel of the Franciscans. An old plank yet to be seen there still bears the following inscription in French, nowise remarkable for good orthography: "This church is dedicated to St. Francis of Assissium." 2nd, It belongs to the venerable pastor, Father Chéroutre, who is now our neighbor at Bailloul. And, 3rd, It is occupied by M. Moyne of Lyons, one [{395}] of our old pupils, of whom I have already spoken to you. He stands on the threshold, and receives us with open arms.
The Franciscans were formerly pastors at Chandernagor; this chapel served as parish church; their convent is now converted into a hotel. From one of its windows there is a magnificent and extensive view, thanks to the river and the level character of the ground. That square tower to the left is the guard-house; for there is here a French army, composed of thirty Indians, commanded by a European lieutenant. They pretend, but erroneously, that these thirty soldiers have but twenty uniforms amongst them, and that often, when the guard is relieved, the new comers enter, not only into the functions, but also into the clothes, of their comrades. It is a calumny of "perfidious Albion;" my information is certain. I have it from the general-in-chief. Close by is the police station. With their white tunics, their red pantaloons, these Indian policemen have very much the look of altar-boys. This fine house to the left is the house of the administrator, or, as he is styled by courtesy, the governor. Let us go in. We shall see this governor, a fat little man, born in the colonies. He will speak a little on everything, but especially on honor and the happiness, to him so rare, of receiving a visit from a man of learning. It is very unlucky that his lady has the influenza at this moment; for she is an astronomer, and had ever so many questions to ask me whatever day I should have accepted their invitation. Another time will do as well. The governor himself is a horticulturist; he has his garden kept in perfect order by Indian convicts, who drag the cannon ball along his walks. [Footnote 58]
[Footnote 58: A military punishment.—TRANS. ]
The sun is setting; let us go home. We shall see in the streets of Calcutta what is seen there every evening; dogs, fireworks, and marriages.
The Bengal dog is a wretched and cowardly animal, long muzzled, red-haired; he barks little, but howls incessantly. Be very sure that he will assail us persistently in the lanes, as we pass now in the evening, distance being our only security against him. There are also in the country, and even in the city, a great number of paria dogs, that prowl around, especially by night; a species of wild beasts; not very dangerous, however, because of their cowardice. It is said that dogs of European race gradually degenerate here.
Those rockets that you see going up from all points of the horizon are a daily amusement in which the Bengalese take much delight. There is scarcely ever a fire-work worth seeing; but there is fire, smoke, and crackers, and that suffices. Sometimes they send up little paper balloons, with a ball of lighted camphor, which burns a good quarter of an hour.
But look yonder: is not that a fire? A bright light flashes on the tree-tops and on the European houses. No, it is not a fire; it is a marriage. The procession is turning the comer of the street; a score of Indians carry each on his head a plank, on which some fifty candles are burning; others carry resinous wood burning on the top of a long pole; in the centre of the procession trumpets, drums, large and small, pots and saucepans, produce a frightful din, each musician having no other rule than that of making the greatest possible noise. Behind the orchestra come one or two open palanquins containing the brides, around whom "blue lights" are lit from time to time. I defy you to form any correct idea of this cortège, and especially of the music. They go about thus from street to street for several hours; then they will eat rice to satiety, gorge themselves with Indian pastry, and to-morrow will not have a single sou. We see that from our terrace several times in the week, and, at certain seasons, every day.