The Hounds—A Gumuki—The Eade—Trelawny—The Rev. J. Wolff—The Nut Log—Balancing Goat—Sirrākee Grass—A Dividend—Ear-rings of Jasmine—A Rat given to a Cow—The Mādār—Enamelled Grasshoppers—The Shaddock—The Agra Gun—Corruption of words—Variegated Locusts—Beautiful Flowers.
1833, Feb. 1st.—The new hounds have just arrived; such little animals by the side of Jan Peter (Trumpeter) and Racer! Out of eight couple there is not a good dog; the gentlemen say three hundred rupees, i.e. £30, is a long price for dogs not worth their food, and who would be better out of than in the pack.
At the fair to-day, I purchased a gumuki, a sort of loose bag, the shape of a carpenter’s square, large enough to admit the hand at one end, but sewed up at the other. It is made of blue cloth, embroidered with figures of the holy cow. A Hindoo will perform pooja seated on the ground, his right hand passed into a bag of this sort. His hand holds, and he counts most sedulously, a rosary of round beads (mālā), containing in number one hundred and eight, exclusive of connecting beads, differently shaped: the attention is abstractedly fixed on the deity, assisted by the rosary. Sometimes it is composed of amber, sometimes of certain rough berries sacred to the gods. Such rosaries, when used to promote abstraction, are called jap-mālā. During the time, a cloth is bound over his mouth, to prevent the entrance of insects; and he is supposed to be in holy meditation.
Feb. 22nd.—To-day is the Eed: it is customary for the Musulmāns to put on very gay new clothes on this day, and to go to prayers at the Jāmma Musjid, the large mosque on the banks of the Jumna. A camel is often sacrificed on the Buckra Eed, on the idea that the animal will be in readiness to carry the person who offers it over the bridge of Sirraat, safe to heaven. The poorer classes will offer a goat (Buckra), or a sheep, lambs, or kids. This festival is to commemorate Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. The Musulmāns contend it was Ishmael not Isaac who was the offering.
I have lost my companion, my horse Trelawny: he was so quiet, and good-tempered, and good-looking; he was as pretty a boy as Hindoo or Musulmān might look on in the Central Provinces. Poor Trelawny, Jumna-jee rolls over my good steed! He died this morning of inflammation, caused by some internal injury he received when we were plunging together in the quicksands on the banks of the Ganges.
I am reading Captain Mundy’s “Sketches in India,” a much more amusing journal than I can write. I have no tigers to kill, no hurdwar to visit; nor have I even seen the taj. His journal is very spirited, very correct, and very amusing; I am pleased to hear the praises bestowed upon it in England.
Have you heard of the Rev. Joseph Wolff? He is a German Jew converted to the faith of Christ: “Unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness.” He roams about the world in search of the lost tribes of Israel, “preaching Christ, and him crucified,” in the churches, and delivering lectures on the subject of the divinity of our Saviour, and his own wanderings. When at Simla, he was with Lord William Bentinck, and preached every Sunday in the presence of the Governor-general, which he would not have been allowed to do had he not been an ordained clergyman. He arrived here three days ago. In the evening he delivered a lecture in the Fort, which was attended by all the inhabitants of Allahabad. Curiosity is, I fear, stronger than religion; for I never before saw the church so crowded.
My husband accompanied me to hear Mr. Wolff. He is a strange and most curious-looking man; in stature short and thin; and his weak frame appears very unfit to bear the trials and hardships to which he has been, and will be, exposed in his travels. His face is very flat, deeply marked with small-pox; his complexion that of dough, and his hair flaxen. His grey eyes roll and start, and fix themselves, at times, most fearfully; they have a cast in them, which renders their expression still wilder. Being a German, and by birth a Jew, his pronunciation of English is very remarkable; at times it is difficult to understand him: however, his foreign accent only gives originality to his lectures, aided occasionally by vehement gesticulation. His voice is deep and impressive; at times, having given way to great and deep enthusiasm, and having arrested the attention of his hearers, he sinks at once down into some common-place remark, his voice becoming a most curious treble, the effect of which is so startling, one can scarcely refrain from laughter. He understands English very well; his language is excellent, but evidently borrowed more from reading than from conversation. He makes use of words never used in common parlance, but always well and forcibly applied. He carries you along with him in his travels, presenting before you the different scenes he has witnessed, and pointing out those customs and manners still in use, which prove the truth of Scripture. His descriptions at times are very forcible, and his account of the lives of St. Augustine and other holy men very interesting.
In the midst of his discourse he said, “It is the custom in Jerusalem, every Friday, for the Jews, the veils over their heads, in mourning and lamentation, to proceed to the ruins of the walls of Jerusalem: for this they pay tribute to the Turks. I will give you an idea of the hymn they sing—the whole congregation:—
Having repeated this hymn in English, Mr. Wolff sang it in Hebrew, as the Jews sing it before the wall of the Temple. His voice is fine, and the words are melodious; I give them as written by himself.
Hebrew Hymn.
Transcriber’s Note: Click on the [Listen] link to hear the music and on the [MusicXML] link to download the notation.
[[Listen]] | [MusicXML]
The music contains two errors, both corrected in the audio file. Third system, bass clef, second bar, first note: Arpeggio is missing. Fourth system, bass clef, first bar, first chord: Note written as F is meant to be played as G.
I could not but feel for the man when I thought of the glory of his nation that had passed away, the Temple that had been destroyed, and the Jews wanderers on the face of the earth. Their supplication to the Lord is affecting. “Even in our days build thy Temple speedily.” Mr. Wolff repeated the hymn of the Carāites, and then chanted it in Hebrew: it is beautiful and touching. The Rabbi, Simon Ben Nuhai, stood forth from the congregation, and chanted these words:—
The Rabbi—
And the people answer—
The Rabbi—
And the people answer—
Rabbi—
People—
Rabbi—
People—
A lady brought Mr. Wolff to call upon me, he being anxious to see my collection of Hindoo idols. On his arrival, he introduced himself in these words:—“I am of the tribe of Benjamin, and Benjamin was a ravening wolf,—and so, they call me Wolff!”
On Sunday he preached, or rather gave us a homily, which was sufficiently startling for even us Indians. What you sober people in England would think of it, I know not. We dined at Mr. F—’s house, and met Mr. Wolff. After dinner, he was very anxious all the ladies should write their names in his Bible, which is seldom out of his hands, and was in such a state I did not like to touch it. Should he visit Hampshire, he will give lectures: they are worth hearing. Perhaps he will repeat the story of the mother of St. Augustine. All that I recollect of it is, the mother, weeping bitterly, spoke to some holy man respecting her son, whose conduct gave her pain. He answered, “The child of a mother of so many tears cannot be lost.” This child was afterwards St. Augustine. It is very beautiful, “The child of a mother of so many tears cannot be lost!”
I gave Mr. Wolff two Hindoo idols, with which he was much pleased: he interests himself in the Muhammadan religion, but is entirely ignorant respecting the worship of the Hindoos.
19th.—Yesterday, some wandering gypsies (Nut Log) came to the door; they were a family of tumblers. Nut is the name of a tribe who are generally jugglers, rope-dancers, &c. There was one girl amongst them whose figure was most beautiful, and her attitudes more classic and elegant than any I have ever beheld; Madame Sacci would hide her diminished head before the supple and graceful attitudes of this Indian girl.
A man placed a solid piece of wood, of the shape of an hour-glass, and about eighteen inches in height, on his head; the girl ran up his back, and, standing on one foot on the top of the wood, maintained her balance in the most beautiful attitude, whilst the man ran round and round in a small circle; she then sprang off his head to the ground. After this she again ran up his back, and kneeling on the hour-glass-like wood on his head, allowed him to run in the circle; then she balanced herself on the small of her back, her hands and feet in the air! After that, she stood on her head, her feet straight in the air, the man performing the circle all the time! The drapery worn by the natives falls in the most beautiful folds, and the girl was a fit subject for a statuary: I was delighted.
They placed a brass vessel, with dust in it, behind her back on the ground, whilst she stood erect; she bent backwards, until her forehead touched the dust in the vessel, and took up between her eyelids two bits of iron, that looked like bodkins; the brass pan in which they were laid was only about two inches high from the ground! She threw herself into wonderful attitudes with a sword in her hand. A set of drawings, illustrating all the graceful positions which she assumed would be very interesting; I had never seen any thing of the kind before, and thought of Wilhelm Meister. The Nut Log consisted of five women, one little child, and one man, who performed all these extraordinary feats; another man beat a tōm-tōm to keep time for them, and accompanied it with his voice; the poor little child performed wonderfully well. She could not have been more than six years old; the other girl was, I should suppose, about eighteen years of age.
Another exhibition worth seeing is an Hindostanī juggler, with his goat, two monkeys, and three bits of wood, like the wood used in England to play the devil and two sticks. The first bit of wood is placed on the ground, the goat ascends it, and balances herself on the top; the man by degrees places another bit of wood on the upper edge of the former; the goat ascends, and retains her balance; the third piece, in like manner, is placed on the top of the former two pieces; the goat ascends from the two former, a monkey is placed on her back, and she still preserves the balance. I have seen this curious performance many times. The man keeps time with a sort of musical instrument, which he holds in his right hand, and sings a wild song to aid the goat; without the song and the measured time, they say the goat could not perform the balance.
When I first came up the country, nothing excited my admiration more than the sirrākee[104] grass in full flower, bending to the wind, and recovering its position so elegantly. This magnificent grass is often sixteen feet high, on which the bloom gracefully waves, like bending feathers.
May 1st.—“Notice was given in the supreme Court, that Messrs. Gould and Campbell would pay a dividend, at the rate of nine gundahs, one cowrie, one cawg, and eighteen teel, in every sicca rupee, on and after the first of June.”
A curious dividend,—not quite a farthing in the rupee[105]!
10th.—O! Western shore! on which I have passed so many happy days; what would I not give for your breezes, to carry away this vile Indian languor, and rebrace my nerves? In front of the thermantidote, and under a pankhā, still there appears to be no air to breathe! This easterly wind is killing; I have in general liked the hot winds, and have found my health good during the time; but this heavy, unnatural atmosphere overpowers me. I see a man crossing the parched and dusty compound, with a lota (brass bowl) and a phleme in his hand, to bleed eleven gynees (dwarf cows), and two horses,—all ill of infectious fever! I must return to my book and my sofa, and dream away the hours.
Shall I ever see again those beautiful scenes which I now see? Shall I ascend again that Mont Anvert, and look down upon the Mer-de-glace? Twenty mosquitoes, of which I have just caught one, say, No; but I say, Yes; and I hope once more to behold the lovely vistas in the New Forest, and once again to muse by the sad sea waves on the Western shore.
17th.—My ayha was decorated last night with ear-rings, made of freshly gathered jasmine flowers, strung double on a wire, and hanging down to her shoulders; the scent was so powerful, I could not endure it in the room. Under her chādar they had a good effect; she wore the bela, the double Arabian jasmine (jasminum sambac pleno; jasminum, from the Arabian ysmyn).
The flowers are most overpoweringly sweet, pure white, and double. Native women are extremely fond of decorating themselves with necklaces, ear-rings, and bracelets, formed of freshly gathered flowers.
The champa is a flowering tree (michelia champaca), sweet-scented michelia. From the bud of the champa flower is taken the pattern of the champa-kullee necklaces the Indian women wear; kullee, a bud.
21st.—We have had heavy storms, with hailstones of most surprising magnitude; I wish the wind would change; the new moon has “the old moon in her arms,” and if the wind change not now, we shall still have to endure this dreadful weather. The garden is a cake of parched white earth, all split and cracked.
What plagues these servants are! This morning, one of the cows being very ill, I ordered a mixture for her; at sunset it had not been given to her, because, to use the man’s own words, “he wished to send a man into the district, to dig up a certain sort of rat, which rat, having been mixed up with hot spices, he would give to the cow, and she would be well!”
Very provoking! the animal will die on account of not having had a proper remedy administered in time. One has to fight against the climate and the servants until one is weary of life.
23rd.—Such a disaster in the quail-house! Through the negligence, or rather stupidity, of the khānsāmān, 160 fat quail have been killed.
June 1st.—The Muharram is over; I am glad of it, it unsettles all the servants so much, and nothing is ever well done whilst they are thinking of the Taziya.
4th.—Last night we drove to the churchyard, to visit the tomb of one of the most charming girls I ever met with, who had departed in her youth and beauty’s prime: it was a melancholy visit.
One of the Fitzclarences died at Allahabad, and was buried here, without any name or inscription on the tomb; within the last six months an inscription has been put upon it, by order of Lord William Bentinck.
In the churchyard was a great number of plants of the mādār or ark, (asclepias gigantea,) gigantic swallow-wort. Upon them we found the most beautifully spotted creatures, like enamelled grasshoppers; they appear partial to this plant, the ark; when alive, their spots are most beautiful, in dying, all their brilliancy vanishes. I gathered a quantity of the fine down from the pods of the mādār, and gave it to a gentleman fond of experiments, who says he will weave it as a shawl is woven, and see if it will answer.
19th.—The air is so oppressive, it appears full of dust, so white, so hot! the atmosphere is thick and dull,—no rain! This day last year a fine storm refreshed the earth. The leaves are all falling off the trees, dried up by the sun; numerous trees are dead, burnt up; not a blade of grass! every thing so dusty! I wish the rains would come; this easterly wind, with a thermometer at 91° at noon, is terrible! The pummelo-tree presents a curious appearance; the whole of the leaves are parched, and have fallen from the tree, leaving sixty fine green pummeloes hanging on the naked branches!
The pummelo, called by the natives batavi-nemoo, is the citrus decumana, orange pampelmouse, or shaddock; it was brought from the West Indies by Capt. Shaddock, from whom it derives its name; the fruit grows to the size of a child’s head, and is very delicious; it is a native of China and Japan.
25th.—Any thing like the severity of these hot winds we have never experienced; the thermometer to-day 93°! Our khānsāmān, Suddu Khān, has had a stroke of the sun; he went out about two miles and a half, to buy grapes, which at this season are very fine and excellent; returning, he fell down by the churchyard, and was conveyed home: it shows how the natives feel the severity of the weather. Grapes, mangoes, mango-fool, and iced-water are our luxuries. The fields of sugar-cane are all burnt up, the cotton-plants dying for want of rain, and in the mango topes (plantations) half the trees are destroyed.
A swarm of locusts have passed over the cantonments; the natives say they foretel rain; would it were come! The people are dying daily, and the Europeans also at Dinapore are carried off three and four a day.
“The utmost offer that has yet been made for the metal of the great gun is sixteen rupees per maund; it is proposed to put it up now for sale by auction, at the Agra-Kotwallee, in the course of next month; the upset price of the lots to be fourteen ānās per seer.
“The destruction of the Agra gun, our readers are aware, has, for some time past, been entrusted to the executive engineer. As stated in the last Meerut Observer, an attempt was made first to saw, and afterwards it was intended to break it to pieces. In the mean time, it is lying, like Robinson Crusoe’s boat, perfectly impracticable under the fort. Though there is a tradition in the city of its weight being 1600 maunds, it has not been found, on actual measurement, to contain more than 845 mds. 9s., which, at the rate of two lbs. to the seer, would be equal to 30 tons, 3 cwt. 2 qrs. 18 lbs. The analysis of the filings made by the deputy Assay Master in Calcutta was, we understand, as follows:—
| Copper. | Tin. | |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | 29·7 | 7·3 |
| 2 | 92·2 | 7·8 |
| 3 | 88·3 | 11·7 |
| Mean | 91·06 | 8·94 |
“The gun, from its size, is naturally regarded by the native population as one of the lions of our city. Of the Hindoos, too, many are accustomed to address their adorations to it, as they do, indeed, to all the arms of war, as the roop of Devee, the Indian Hecate. Beyond this, Hindoo tradition has not invested the gun with any character of mythological sanctity. The antiquaries of our city, indeed, say that it was brought here by the Emperor Acbar, perhaps from the fortress of Chittore. We have, however, ourselves been unable to find any mention of it in tawareek of that reign, or of any subsequent period. Among its other just claims to be saved from the hands of the Thatheras, we must not forget the fact of its having once fired a shot from Agra to Futtehpoor Sicri, a distance of twenty-four miles. A stone ball now marks the spot where it fell to the student in artillery practice, putting him entirely out of conceit of the vaunted power of Queen Elizabeth’s pocket pistol, which we believe can scarcely carry one-third of that distance. The fellow of the Agra gun is stated to be still embedded in the sands of the Jumna.
“Its destruction seems as unpopular with the natives as it is with the European community. Its doom, however, being, we believe, sealed, we are gratified to think that the proceeds of its sale are to be devoted to the erection of a permanent bridge of boats over the Jumna at this city, the estimate for which, the supposed value of the gun, with an advance of one or two years’ ferry tolls, is expected to meet. The future surplus funds derived from the bridge will probably, we hear, be expended in forming a new branch road from Raj-ghaut to Mynpoory, to unite with the grand trunk now making between Allahabad and Delhi, under Captain Drummond. We shall, however, postpone till another opportunity our remarks on this and other plans to improve the means of communication in this quarter.”—Mofussil Achbar.
“At five o’clock on Wednesday morning, the Great Gun at this place was burst, other means of breaking it up having proved unsuccessful. The gun was buried about twenty feet deep in the ground, and 1000 lbs. of gunpowder was employed for the explosion. The report was scarcely heard, but the ground was considerably agitated, and a large quantity of the earth was thrown on all sides. As far as we can learn, the chief engineer has at length been completely successful. A large portion of the European community and multitudes of natives were present to witness the novel spectacle. The inhabitants of the city were so alarmed, that a considerable portion abandoned their houses, and that part of the town in the vicinity of the Fort was completely deserted.”—Mofussil Achbar, June 29.
July 18th.—Last night, as I was writing a long description of the tēz-pāt, the leaf of the cinnamon-tree, which humbly pickles beef, leaving the honour of crowning heroes to the laurus nobilis, the servants set up a hue and cry that one of our sā’īses had been bitten by a snake. I gave the man a tea-spoonful of eau-de-luce, which the khānsāmān calls “Blue-dee-roo,” mixed with a little water. They had confined the snake in a kedgeree-pot, out of which he jumped into the midst of the servants; how they ran! The sā’īs is not the worse for the fright, the snake not being a poisonous one; but he says the mem sāhiba has burnt up his interior and blistered his mouth with the medicine. I hope you admire the corruption of eau-de-luce—blue-dee-roo! Another beautiful corruption of the wine-coolers is, soup-tureen for sauterne! Here is a list of absurdities:—
An officer in the 16th Lancers told me he was amused the other day by his servant designating the trumpeter a “poh poh walla.”
The gardener has just brought in a handful of the most beautiful scarlet velvet coloured insects, about the size of two large peas, but flattish, and commonly found on reddish sandy soil, near grass; these insects are used as one of those medicines which native doctors consider efficacious in snake bites: they call them beerbotie; the scientific name is mutella occidentalis.
The carpenter, in cutting down the hedge of the garden, found in the babūl and neem-trees such beautiful creatures; they appear to be locusts; the variety and brilliancy of their colours are wonderful. The upper wings are green, lined out with yellow, the under wings scarlet, the body green, yellow, and black: they are most beautifully marked. I have had some prepared with arsenical soap.
Aug. 4th.—I have just received a present of the first number of Colonel Luard’s most beautiful views in India; how true they are! his snake-catchers are the very people themselves. Apropos, we caught a young cobra yesterday in my dressing-room; the natives said, “Do not kill it; it is forbidden to kill the snake with the holy mark on the back of its head,”—a mark like a horse-shoe. However, as it was the most venomous sort of snake, I put it quietly into my “Bottle of Horrors.” They say snakes come in pairs; we have searched the room and cannot find its companion. It is not pleasant to have so venomous a snake twisting on the Venetian blinds of one’s dressing-room.
8th.—Yesterday, at dinner, our friends were praising the fatted quail, and remarking how well we had preserved them. This morning all the remainder are dead, about two hundred; why or wherefore I know not—it is provoking.
We had the most beautiful bouquet on the table last night! an enormous bowl full of flowers, in such luxuriant beauty! some few of which you may find in hot-houses and green-houses at home. With what pleasure I looked at them! and how much amusement taking off the impressions, or practising the black art, as we call it, will afford me!