“Long since has this little bird ‘I’ soared away from the Sanctuary, I know not where, never to return again.Peace!Peace!Peace!”
“Long since has this little bird ‘I’ soared away from the Sanctuary, I know not where, never to return again.
Peace!Peace!Peace!”
After we lost my father we heard the most wonderful singing in the hush of the hour beforetwilight; and we could hardly believe that the rapturous melody which thrilled our souls and seemed to bring heaven quite near to us could come from the throat of a bird.
Another strange thing happened after the tombstone had been placed over my father’s grave. One day my mother noticed that a tiny plant was growing between the crevices in the ground, and she allowed it to remain. Gradually this plant became a flowering tree, with rich clusters of bloom. There it blossomed season after season; but when my mother’s gravestone was being placed, the tree was cut down by a mistake of the masons, and it never grew again. I often think of that wonderful growth. It seemed like a bright message of hope from him whose departure had cast so deep a shadow on all our lives.
Eight days after I lost my father I held a little daughter in my arms, and I wondered whether the innocent soul which had come into my keeping straight from God had met my father’s noble spirit on its upward flight.
Into that house of mourning her birth brought some consolation. We named her Sukriti (Good deeds), but we always call her Girlie. She is fascinating rather than lovely.
When Rajey was four years old, as no other son had been born to us, the Maharajah’s people were most anxious for him to marry again, for they said if anything happened to the child and the Maharajah also died, the throne would have to go to another branch of the family. The old Maharani and the late Calica Das Duth planned out very carefully that it was most necessary for my husband to marry again. The Maharajah never mentioned the matter to me, but to the doctor he said when Rajey once had an attack of false croup: “Durga Das, I shall always be over-anxious about Rajey’s health until another son is born.” So it was a day of greatrejoicing when my second son Jitendra, whom we called Jit, was born, 20th December, 1886.
I was greatly delighted when I went to live at Cooch Behar to find there a fine church of the New Dispensation and a girls’ school named after me.
But there was much room for improvement in the country, although Government had well prepared the way for us. It remained for my husband to be a ruler in the highest sense of the word, and for me to win the hearts of our people as a woman, a wife, and a mother. The more I saw of Cooch Behar the more I liked it. The old tales say that the god Siva chose it as his earthly home on account of its luxuriant loveliness.
Many legends have gathered round Cooch Behar, mostly of the time when it formed part of the kingdom of Kamrupa, and when many of the temples and palaces were built.
Photo: Johnston & Hoffmann, Calcutta.“RAJEY.”
Photo: Johnston & Hoffmann, Calcutta.
“RAJEY.”
Among the stories is that of a Maharajah of Cooch Behar who had a number of wives, one of whom was a very pretty girl; she was the favourite wife and the others were very jealous of her. The Prime Minister had a very handsome son, who when walking one day in the palace gardens, looked up and caught sight of her beautiful eyes looking out of a window of the palace. He gazed at the lovely face, and the girl, who had never seen any man except her husband, stared back at him. The young man thought he had never seen any one so beautiful, and in the days that followed he often came to the garden.Unfortunately, some of the ladies of the palace saw him looking at the little Maharani in the window. It did not take long for the Maharajah to learn this, and he promised the wife who told him a handsome present if she had spoken the truth.
One day when the romantic pair were thus engaged in gazing at each other from a distance, the Maharajah saw them. Naturally, though unjustly, he suspected his wife’s fidelity. He sent a message to the Prime Minister commanding him to dine at the palace that evening. The Dewan, as he believed, greatly honoured, accepted the invitation.
After dinner the Maharajah said: “I have a present for you to take home.” When he reached his house, the Prime Minister told his wife to open the parcel. Directly afterwards he heard a terrible scream, and, rushing into his wife’s room, found her on the floor unconscious, with a half-open parcel which contained the head of his son. The Dewan guessed at once what had happened. Without a word he left his house just as he was, and started for Delhi, the capital of the Moghul Empire. Arrived there, he begged an audience, and when admitted to the presence of the Emperor he told him that Cooch Behar was one of the richest districts in India and suggested he should try to conquer it. The Emperor made several attacks on Cooch Behar; but the fort was so strong that each time his army was driven back from the place now known as Moghulhat.
This story is only one of the many I have heard. Their trend is always the same. The members of my husband’s ancient race have been brave soldiers, generous alike to friend and foe, and passionate lovers, and they have sought afar for their wives.
I have often thought how uncharitable the general public are about the failings of those in high places. Without knowing them well, without knowing their inner lives, the public have an unjust habit of writing and speaking unkindly of rulers and princes. Often the public will compare their own lives with the lives of their princes—a commoner’s with a ruler’s life! God has chosen one man to be a ruler and others to be his subjects. It is unfair to judge hastily without knowing the divine object of each life; people who rashly judge often do grave injustice to those who have been called to a high station.
When I first came to Cooch Behar we lived in the old palace, which was like a town. Hundreds of ladies occupied the various houses of which it was composed: the late Maharajah’s wives, his mother and grandmother, and many relations, with all their servants. Whenever there were festivities all these ladies gathered together and it was like a great crowd in a small city.
Now we live in the new palace, which is considered one of the finest in India. It was designed by a Western architect and is built in an eclectic style.It boasts a fine Durbar Hall, and the east front consists of a range of arcades along the ground and narrow piers, and the cement and terra-cotta used in the construction make an effective decoration. On one side of the palace is the swimming bath, and covered racket and tennis courts. The gardens are lovely. There is a river on the west, a town towards the east, and to the north in the far distance stand the great Himalayas like a fort. In the winter months on clear days we can see the snow distinctly. In the spring, flowers bloom everywhere, and as for fireflies, although I have travelled far, I have never seen so many thousands together; on dark nights they look like little stars twinkling in the fields. During the rains all the rivers, of which there are many, are in flood, and then I think of Cooch Behar as something like Venice. The thunderstorms at times are terrific; our old nurse, Mrs. Eldridge, used to say: “In all my travels I have never experienced such thunderstorms.” We had English nurses for all our children, except Rajey. I was highly amused at Mrs. Eldridge’s surprise when she first came. I asked her why she appeared to be so interested in me, and received this blunt reply: “Well, your Highness, when I came to take up my duties with you, I expected to find a stout, dark, uneducated lady. I must say, now that I’ve seen you, I’m so taken aback that I can hardly believe my eyes.”
My day was always much occupied. After mymorning tea, the children often brought me flowers from the garden and I used to make sketches of them, and this was the pleasure and pride of my life. After my bath I put on a silk sari, which is supposed to be sacred, and arranged the prayer-room. I loved the effect of the masses of roses, jessamine, and the bright-hued flowers against the white marble of the altar and floor. The open windows admitted the sweet air, fresh from the river close by.
I prepared the fruits and sweets for the household, and have often prepared enough vegetables for fifty people. My readers may perhaps smile at the idea of a Maharani cutting vegetables! I used to sit on the floor surrounded by the brass bowls in which the vegetables were washed, and the maids constantly changed the water for me. I always cut enough vegetables to fill several large plates, for we generally had eighteen curries for each meal. I also used to slice betel-nut, which has to be cut very fine, and sometimes filled several big jars at one time. Often I made sweets, as both my husband and the children were fond of sweets. I also prepared pickles of mangoes, and potatoes, and other vegetables; all this I had learned to do from my dear mother.
Sometimes I used to make up betel leaves into tiny odd-shaped packets filled with half a dozen different spices, and pinned together with cloves. Perhaps most English readers do not know what avaluable digestive the betel leaf is. It strengthens the gums, and completely neutralises the bad effects of indigestible delicacies.
Sometimes the Maharajah came in while I was cutting the vegetables, and he would sit and watch me, occasionally saying: “Take care, you’ll cut yourself,” just as though I were a little girl who did not know how to peel a potato. Now and again I would get up tableaux and plays to amuse my relations-in-law, the officers’ wives, and others, and these they seemed to enjoy greatly. I was very fond of painting, and often spent hours ornamenting the mantelpieces and the glass panes in the doors. We made a miniature garden which the children loved. In this garden we had a tank filled with clear water, in which one day my second son, the present Maharajah, then a little boy, wanted to have a bath. We tried to dissuade him, but he insisted on having his own way, so we undressed him and put him in the tank. He felt the cold but pretended he was quite warm, and he looked like a picture with only his face and curly head showing above the water in the little tank surrounded by flowers.
From the day of his accession to the throne the Maharajah devoted all the earnestness of his nature and his great powers of organisation to plans for the comfort, well-being, and education of his subjects. New roads were made; the systematic development of the resources of the State was undertaken, and hospitals, schools, and public buildings were erected.Some of these are very fine; the Masonic Lodge in Cooch Behar is one of the largest in Bengal. The Maharajah took a keen interest in questions of education and founded a college of which he was very proud. At a distribution of prizes at this college on one occasion he said: “If I find any boys guilty of disloyalty they shall be turned out of the State in twenty-four hours.”
Hindu princes are allowed to marry as many wives as they wish, but the Maharanis are part of the State, and there is a vast difference between their position and that of the other palace ladies. The ruler’s wives are brought to the palace as little girls, there to be married and afterwards educated, solely, I am obliged to admit, with the idea of attracting their husband, who, more often than not, never sees half of them. Nevertheless the pretty ones learn to sing, dance, and cook to perfection, for in many palaces the Maharajah’s food is never touched by paid cooks. Some keep accounts. All are busy with their work and, my mother-in-law told me, they are quite happy. Some of my readers may have heard that any girl may become a Rajah’s wife. This is absolutely untrue; the Maharanis must be young girls of good family, and always are. The Rajah’s wives are not allowed to go out to other houses. It may be my weakness or my strength, but I have altered my position in this respect a little; I do see people if urged, but I have often been asked by my husband’s relations to rememberwho I am, and not to speak to any and everybody, and lower my position.
My mother-in-law was a well-built woman, rather short but wonderfully strong. She was bright and always full of fun. Her kind help made my life a happy one, and her wise counsel often guided me in hours of difficulty when I first went to Cooch Behar, after my marriage. She died of cholera at Woodlands; Rajey, a cousin of mine, and I nursed her through her last illness.
The Maharajah had a step-brother and sister, both very handsome; they were very devoted to my dear husband, especially the sister.
There is a custom in the palace that no one shall have a meal before the Maharajah. For a few years I kept up this custom strictly; but sometimes, when I was in indifferent health, I found it difficult to wait until one or two o’clock in the afternoon for my breakfast. The Maharajah came to know of this and asked me why I did not have my breakfast earlier. When he heard of the custom he said to his mother, “The Maharani cannot possibly wait so long. She is to have her meals before me, if I am delayed.” His mother did not like this at all, but as it was a command she had to obey.
We do not have many meals in India. Formerly we had breakfast, fruit and milk every afternoon, and dinner. Now we have quite a late breakfast in the English way, and afternoon tea. Until I left India I had never tasted meat. Our deliciousfruits would convert the most ardent meat-lover into a fruitarian.
How I love Cooch Behar with its abundance of birds and flowers! The scenery is glorious, the beautiful lotus covers the rivers, and at some of the old religious festivals the temples are lavishly decorated with the gorgeous pink blossoms. The Cooch Behar climate is splendid; the winters are like those of the South of France, and the spring is heavenly.
I endeavoured from the first to gain the confidence and affection of my husband’s subjects, and I never knowingly ran counter to their prejudices. In Darjeeling and Calcutta I may be considered the Maharani with advanced Western ideas, but in Cooch Behar I was and am the zenana lady who enters into the lives of the people. Many who at first looked upon my marriage with disfavour took me to their hearts when they found that I was just like all their Maharanis, and that I loved them.
Now when I feel that earthly happiness and myself have parted company, I like to picture Rajey as he was in those days. He had large sad eyes, lovely curling hair, and he grew into a straight-limbed slender boy, beautiful as the legendary sons of Siva.
In January, 1884, soon after we lost my father, we went to Simla. There Rajey sickened with typhoid fever and became seriously ill, and the doctors in attendance declared the case to be hopeless. Myhusband’s distress was terrible, and I shall never forget his anguished words: “If God will only spare Rajey’s life, Sunity, you and I would give our lives for him.”
Our prayers were answered. After six weeks’ fight with death our child was restored to us. Rajey’s nature was always sweetly unselfish, even as a little boy. When I used to tell him stories the sad parts always made him cry.
“How do rulers get their money?” he asked me one day.
“Well, Rajey, by taxing people.”
“Shall I be a ruler?”
“Yes, darling, I hope you will some day.”
“Then,” he announced, his great eyes shining, “I’ll never ask for any taxes until everybody is well off and quite able to pay.”
Once I met him laden with all his boots and shoes. “Rajey, where are you going?” I asked. I was told that one of his servants had informed the boy that he was too poor to buy shoes for his children, and the kind little Rajey had straightway started off to remedy the trouble.
Rajey was loyal to a degree. His creed was “once a friend, always a friend.” He never went back after he had extended the hand of friendship to any one. In later years he was often deceived by those he trusted and belittled by those who had received innumerable kindnesses from him, but I never once heard him speak unkindly. His loyaltyforbade it, and although he must have been wounded, he suffered in silence.
I remember another incident of those early days; Rajey was hit by his bearer, an act which made every one indignant and was immediately reported to me. My husband, who never permitted any one to touch the children, told one of the officers to question the bearer, and the man flatly denied having laid a finger on Rajey.
“I know the boy never tells a lie,” remarked the Maharajah; “send for Rajey and I will ask him.”
The child came in, and my husband said quietly: “Now were you beaten?” No answer. “Rajey, tell me the truth, there’s a dear boy.” Still no answer. “Rajey … do you hear me speaking?” Again no reply. “Well, then,” said my husband, “go and stand in the corner until you tell me if the bearer hit you.”
Rajey obeyed and occupied the corner, the tears rolling down his cheeks, but he refused to tell about the offender, and I believe my husband loved the boy all the more because of his loyal but misplaced affection for his servant.
On another occasion when our English secretary’s boys were fighting, and the younger was getting the worst of the struggle, Rajey cried: “Stop! it’s not fair; nobody ought to hit a boy smaller than himself.”
He had a strong sense of justice and his father was his ideal. Whatever my husband did was rightin the eyes of his first-born. No one was so wonderful nor so good as his father. Our doctor once said: “Rajey, I’m taller than your father.” “You dare say that,” the child answered in furious tones; “nobody in the world can possibly be taller than my father.”
Rajey was, even when a small boy, impressed with a sense of the responsibilities of those whose destiny it is to govern others. He seemed to realise the hollowness of earthly state, and he never tired of listening to one of our stories which, like most Indian legends, has a striking moral. Its simple cynicism may interest my readers.
Once the souls of the poor were standing in front of the closed gates of heaven. Since they parted from their bodies they had patiently spent many weary days hoping for admittance to the lovely country where the ills of life are forgotten. The horrors of their past lives had not yet faded from their minds, although in this place of waiting they were spared the pangs of poverty, hunger, and thirst.
The vast multitude gazed yearningly at the gates which did not open. Suddenly word came, “Make way, make way, O souls, a rich Maharajah’s spirit is on its way to heaven and must be instantly admitted.”
The poor murmured together, but again the gatekeeper spoke, and the crowd parted to give place to the soul of the Maharajah.
At last it came. And the poor caught a glimpseof the pomp and circumstance which attended its passage to heaven. The gates were flung open, the perfumed air of Paradise came forth for an instant, but the poor remained outside.
“Ah!” cried the weary spirits. “Is existence still to be the same for us as it was when we lived upon earth? There the rich always oppressed us. We were as dust under their feet. We toiled that they might have the luxuries they demanded. And now that we are dead we still suffer. Why should we not be admitted to heaven without delay? Alas! there is no justice at the hands of God since the soul of a Maharajah but lately dead takes precedence of us.”
“Oh, silence, rebellious ones!” cried the gatekeeper. “Surely, surely, you know that the road to heaven is an easy one for the poor to traverse. You have no temptations in your passage save the ills of poverty. You have not to combat with the lust of the eye, with the arrogance of riches, with the evil wrought by flattering tongues and the misuse of power. Think what allurements this ruler must have resisted in order to prepare himself for heaven. It is a stupendous feat for a Maharajah to have accomplished, and,” added the gatekeeper unctuously, “we seldom see them here, therefore it behoves me to give instant admittance to such a rare arrival.”
And the souls of the poor were silent, for they recognised the words of wisdom which the gatekeeper had spoken.
The year 1887 was expected to be a memorable one for India, as our late beloved Queen-Empress would celebrate her Jubilee. India was anxious to show her loyalty to the Sovereign whose high ideals and humanity have endeared her to all her people. Many of our princes therefore decided to render their homage in person. My husband made his plans for this eventful year long beforehand, but he cleverly kept all of us in the dark as to his intention that I should accompany him to England. It must be remembered that the conditions of life among Indian ladies were very different in 1887 from what they are to-day. The Maharani of Baroda, I believe, had once gone to Switzerland, but for the wife of a ruler to visit England with her husband caused quite a sensation. I think I am right in saying that I was the first Maharani to do such a thing, and I may as well confess that I dreaded the experience. I knew absolutely nothing about the journey. I was going to be a stranger in a strange land, and I was sensitive enough to dread being stared at, for I well knew that this must be my fate in London. We sailed on the P. and O. boatGangesorBallarat,I forget which. I remember the captain of the boat took great pains to ensure our comfort on board. Our suite consisted of my two brothers Nirmul and Profulla, two A.D.C.’s, J. Raikut and S. Sing, our English private secretary, the late Mr. Bignell and his family, and our English nurse, besides our two selves and our three little children. We also had some Indian servants. I cannot describe my feelings when I realised that I had actually left India, had passed another milestone on life’s road, but I little dreamed that the far-off country for which I was bound was destined to be a land of sorrow for me in the distant future. The glory of the sea enchanted me. When the boat was out on the ocean and no land could be seen, all Nature seemed to speak of the infinite God, and I felt so small. In the dark evenings when the water gleamed with phosphorescence, it looked as if there were thousands of stars under the sea responding to the stars above. It really was grand; a grandeur that no one could describe unless he had actually experienced it. Before we embarked I had tasted meat for the first time in my life, and I disliked the flavour so much that for the first few days of the voyage I ate nothing but a few vegetables. I often had fits of depression and sometimes left the dinner table to relieve my feelings with a good cry.
The Maharajah parted from us at Port Said, as it was decided that it would be easier and less fatiguing for me with my little ones to go by sea instead oftaking the shorter route across Europe. I was delighted when I first saw Malta and Gibraltar. Mr. Bignell met us at Tilbury Docks. Just as we were seated in the train, I was handed a message from Queen Victoria that she wished to see me at Court in my national dress. It was May, but very cold for the time of year, and my first sight of London on a Sunday did not raise my spirits. I saw half-deserted streets swept with a bitter wind which had already chapped my face, and I was heartily glad when at last we reached the Grosvenor Hotel. There all was brightness and animation. My husband was so pleased to see me and the children and to show me the grand suite of rooms which had been reserved for us. The housekeeper at the Grosvenor had thought of everything that would make us comfortable, and my memory of her is of a pleasant woman with plenty of common sense. One thing I did not like. Our luxurious suite of rooms had no bathroom. I was told I was to have a bath in my room, but this I would not do. I was shown to a big bath, but was horrified when I was told that I must pass all those corridors each time I wanted a bath. I refused point-blank, and they finally prepared a small room as a bathroom for me.
Kind invitations poured in, and I was happy to see many old friends. I shall never forget the question Sir Ashley Eden put to me: “What do you think of our London fog?” for although it was May, I had experienced a yellow fog. I answered:“Not much, Sir Ashley; I do not think I shall ever care for the London fog.” We dined at Sir Ashley’s, and there I first met the present Lord Crewe. We had a large drawing-room at the hotel which I could never make cosy or comfortable; on rainy days especially, it felt damp and gloomy. When I went out for drives I used to see little children with their toy boats in Hyde Park, and I soon got a nice little sailing yacht for my Rajey, and both mother and son enjoyed floating this vessel on the Serpentine. Rajey’s little face beamed with delight when he saw his boat going along. The late Lady Rosebery was most kind to my little ones; Rajey and Girlie spent some happy afternoons at her house. The present Lady Crewe was a small girl then, and her brother, Lord Dalmeny, made a great friend of dear Rajey and always remained the same.
Soon after we arrived in London I was alarmed to find my baby Jit develop bronchitis. Both my husband and I were most anxious about the child, and their own doctors were offered by two Royal ladies, one of whom was H.R.H. the Princess of Wales, now Queen Alexandra. When Jit got better the nursery was often honoured by two Royal visitors, H.R.H. the late Duchess of Teck and our present Queen, then Princess May. These two charming ladies graciously came and played with my children. It was lovely to see little Jit in Princess May’s arms. I have seldom met so sweet a personality as the Duchess of Teck. She simply radiated kindness andgood nature. One glance at her happy, handsome face inspired confidence. I was greatly honoured when she said she would chaperone me during the Jubilee festivities. The present Queen was then a tall graceful girl, with a wild-rose freshness and fairness, and gifted with the same simple unaffected charm of manner as her mother, which had already endeared her to me.
It had been intimated to me that Queen Victoria wished to see me privately before the Court, and it was arranged that I should go to Buckingham Palace for an audience. The question of what I was to wear had to be settled. The Maharajah, who always displayed the greatest interest in my toilets, chose and ordered my gown for this great occasion. I was extremely nervous, and as I saw my reflection in the mirror in the pale grey dress I felt more terrified than ever. My maid, seeing me look so pale and shaken, brought me a glass of port. I never touch wine, except when it is absolutely necessary. My hand trembled so that I spilt half of the wine over my gown. Instantly a chorus of “How lucky” arose. But I gazed rather ruefully at the stains.
“Well, Sunity, it is time for us to start,” said my husband, and I followed him to the carriage. Lord Cross, who was then Secretary of State for India, received us, and his wife whispered a few reassuring words to me before the officials escorted us down the corridors to the small room where Her Majesty was.
I cannot describe my feelings when I found myself in the presence of the Queen. To us Indians she was a more or less legendary figure endowed with wonderful attributes, an ideal ruler, and an ideal woman, linked to our hearts across “the black water” by silken chains of love and loyalty. I looked at Her Majesty anxiously, and my first impression instantly dispelled my nervousness: a short, stout lady dressed in mourning who came forward and kissed me twice. I made a deep curtsy, and walked a step backward, and then my husband came forward and bent low over the Queen’s hand. I experienced a feeling, as did every one with whom Her late Majesty came in contact, that she possessed great personal magnetism, and she certainly was the embodiment of dignity. Her conversation was simple and kindly, and every word revealed her queen, woman and mother. I was delighted to find that I had not been disappointed in my ideal, and felt eager to go back to India that I might tell my country-women about our wonderful Empress. The audience occupied only a few minutes, but nothing could have exceeded Her Majesty’s graciousness, and I came away proud and glad, and laughed at myself for my previous terror at being received by one so gracious. The Maharajah was very pleased at our reception, and told me how proud he was of me.
The next day we attended the Drawing-room. I wore a white and gold brocade gown and acrêpe de Chinesari. I waited with the other ladies, andas it was a cold afternoon I was very glad to find a little cosy corner and sit down. I looked around me, and was admiring the pretty dresses and faces when I suddenly saw what I thought was a gentleman wearing a diamond tiara. I gazed at the face and then discovered it belonged to a lady who had a thick moustache. I went into the throne-room, and as I was told by Lady Cross that I need not kiss Her Majesty when I made my curtsy, as I had already been received privately, when Her Majesty wanted to kiss me I avoided her! After finishing my curtsies I went on to the next and the next, and I distinctly heard the Queen say to the Princess of Wales: “Why would not the Maharani kiss me?” This made me so nervous that I thought I should drop on the floor. After I had finished making all my curtsies I went and stood near kind Lady Salisbury and watched the other ladies pass. One of the duchesses, an elderly woman in a very low dress trimmed with old lace and wearing magnificent jewels, to my mind looked extremely miserable. I can still see her trembling as she curtsied; whether it was the cold or her aged body was tired I cannot say. I was greatly interested in all I saw; but shocked at the low-cut gowns worn by the ladies present. The cold was most trying to complexions and shoulders, the prevailing tints of which were either brick-red or a chilly reddish-blue. Now that the Courts are held in the evenings women’s beauty is seen to greater advantage, but I shall never forget that Mayafternoon and the inartistic exposure of necks and arms.
MAHARANI SUNITY DEVEE, 1887.
MAHARANI SUNITY DEVEE, 1887.
We received an invitation for the State ball. My husband chose a gown of blue and silver brocade for me for this important occasion. Just before we left the hotel for the palace the Maharajah said: “Sunity, if the Prince of Wales asks you to dance with him, youmust; it would be a very great honour.” “I can’t,” I faltered, “I simply can’t; you know I do not dance.” “Never mind, you cannot refuse your future king.” “Well,” I said, “I don’t think I will go; let me send a letter of apology.” “Impossible! We are bound to attend; it is a command.” I said no more, but prayed and hoped that I might be overlooked by the Prince. Not so, however. Soon after we entered the ballroom a message was sent by H.R.H. asking me to dance with him. I returned the answer that, although I greatly appreciated the honour, I must refuse as I never danced. Then came another message: It was only the Lancers, and H.R.H. would show me the steps.
Again I refused; then, to my great surprise, the late King George of Greece came up to where I was sitting. “Do come and dance, Maharani,” he said, “I assure you there is nothing in it.”
“Please forgive me, your Majesty,” I stammered, “but I cannot dance.” The late King of Denmark, then Crown Prince, also graciously asked me to dance. By this time I was too nervous for words, and I heard a sweet voice say: “Oh, look! hasn’tthe Maharani tiny little feet?” I glanced in an agony of shyness at the dais from whence the tones proceeded, quite close to where I was sitting, and saw that the speaker was none other than the Princess of Wales! I did not know what to do, and felt for the moment as if I were all feet. My skirt was rather short, and I could not tuck my shoes out of sight. I was very glad and relieved when suppertime came. I went in with the Royal Family to supper. Every one was most gracious, and the Prince of Wales teased me about my not accepting him as a partner.
“What do you think of the ball?” asked one of the Princesses. “It is a grand sight, Ma’am; I think the jewels are wonderful.” I was introduced to several foreign royalties, and one girl I loved directly I saw her. She was the Grand Duchess Sergius of Russia, with whom I afterwards became very friendly.
On the morning of the Jubilee I was early astir. I wore a pale orange-coloured gown with a sari to match. We left the hotel at a quarter-past nine. As we drove to the Abbey I was struck with the perfect behaviour of the crowd.
It was a hot, dusty drive, and I was glad of the shade of my parasol. Suddenly a shout arose. “Put down that sunshade, please, and let’s have a look at you.”
“Don’t,” whispered the Maharajah, “you’ll get sunstroke.” I hesitated. “Comenow, put it down.” I closed my parasol, and as I did so was heartily cheered. “That’s right,” roared the good-humoured crowd, “thank you very much.”
On entering the Abbey we were escorted to our seats.
It was an impressive ceremony, and the Queen looked inspired when she came back from the altar. After the service was over, as Her Majesty walked down the aisle, her eyes met mine, and she smiled. I was the only Maharani present, and I like to remember this signal honour.
A striking figure in that vast assembly was the late Emperor Frederick of Germany, who was a very handsome man. His appearance was so noble it was a delight to watch his looks and dignity. There was a grand but rather small evening party at Buckingham Palace on the same day as the Jubilee ceremony at Westminster. Her Majesty, looking very happy, stood in the middle of the room, with all the foreign Princes and Princesses in their full-dress costumes, and covered with splendid jewels and decorations, around her. After making my curtsies to Her Majesty and the Royal Princesses, I was introduced to several foreign Royalties, one of whom was the late Grand Duke of Hesse. I shall never forget the charming way in which the Duchess of Connaught presented him to me; she just said: “My brother-in-law, the Grand Duke.” I don’t think the world has ever witnessed such a wonderful Royal gathering as that, with such magnificent jewels, and full-dress uniforms of brilliant colours, and the array of medals and orders that covered many breasts. One and all looked happy, and thatin itself made the party a “great success.” Our congratulations to Her Majesty on her Jubilee were sincere, loyal, and warm.
Life passed very swiftly and pleasantly for me during the Jubilee celebrations, and I was thoroughly spoiled, much to the delight of my husband. I have many recollections of that memorable year, and can picture to myself many of my kind and charming hostesses. I remember once in the supper-room at Buckingham Palace my husband introduced the Ex-Kaiser, then Prince William, to me, and the young prince bent down and kissed my hand. I blushed and my throat grew dry; my hand had never been kissed before by a man. After the Prince left us I tried to scold my husband in Bengali, but he laughed, and said: “Sunity, it is a great honour that your hand should be kissed by the future German Emperor; you ought to feel proud.” I admired Prince William and the way in which the foreign Royalties showed their respect for ladies.
We went to Windsor Castle one day to present our gifts to Her Majesty. My husband chose a little diamond pendant with an uncut ruby in the middle, and told me to give it to Her Majesty. I said to my husband: “I shall be too nervous,” but he urged me: “Just a few words, Sunity; it will please Her Majesty.” Little did my husband know what those few words cost me. We went by special train to Windsor, and when we arrived at the Castle we were received by the equerries and high officials.It was the day for Indians to pay their homage to their Empress. Captain Muir was in command of the bodyguard on duty. We entered the throne-room where the Queen was, and I presented our little present with a few words to Her Majesty, who graciously accepted it and thanked me. I made a deep curtsy and walked backwards, feeling nervous at the thought of mistakes in my little speech and curtsy, but people who were present in the room said afterwards the Maharani of Cooch Behar’s words were clear and her curtsy was most graceful.
One evening we dined with Mr. and Miss Kinnaird. The table was decorated with masses of scarlet roses specially sent over from Paris. The perfume of the roses took my memory back to the old Belghuria garden. I enjoyed this dinner very much. We were going on to an evening party at the Guildhall, and the Maharajah asked one of the gentlemen in the Royal suite who was at the dinner whether full dress or evening dress was expected. “Ordinary evening dress, your Highness,” was the reply. However, to our dismay, when we reached the Guildhall we found all the men were in full dress. My husband felt very uncomfortable at being the only man in evening dress, and would not go near the Royal dais; a fact which did not escape the notice of the Prince of Wales. His Royal Highness sent for my husband. “What’s the matter, Maharajah?” he inquired, and the reason was explained. The Prince was anxious to know the name of the gentlemanwho had made the mistake, but my husband would not give him away. Thereupon the Prince turned to me and said with a smile: “Oh, Maharani, you are a very careless wife. You haven’t dressed your husband properly.” Every one smiled, and the Prince’s kindly tact put the Maharajah completely at his ease. When we went into the supper-room, Her Majesty the late Empress Frederick came and stood beside me and asked many questions about Indian home-life and customs. Her Majesty said: “How do you address your husband? Do you call him by his name?” I said: “No, Ma’am, we generally address our husbands in the third person.” “How would you call your husband if you wanted him now?” I said: “Ogo.” “What does that mean?” asked the Empress. “Please, dear.” She laughed, and they all, the Empress included, began to call each other “Ogo.” Then Her Majesty looked at my hair and asked: “Is that all your own hair?” “Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “What a lovely lot of hair you have!”
I admired everybody and everything with whole-hearted admiration, but I think my utmost meed of devotion was paid to Queen Alexandra (then Princess of Wales), who was as kind as she was beautiful, and so womanly that my heart went out to her.
I first discovered at a dinner given by a bachelor friend of the Maharajah’s that punctuality was not considered a virtue in London. The invitation was for 7.45, but the last guest did not arrive until tenminutes to nine, and I was told that “no one is ever punctual in London.” I was so tired that I fainted with the arrival of the soup, but revived enough to eat dinner, and we afterwards went on to an entertainment where I saw Letty Lind dance. She was then a pretty girl and danced exquisitely. To our great pleasure and pride the Prince of Wales came and sat in our box. My husband said to me in Bengali: “Do ask His Royal Highness if he will honour us with his company at supper,” and when I did ask, how graciously he accepted and thanked us! We knew he had a party of his own, and I could not help thinking: “It must be because H.R.H. is fond of my husband that he did not refuse,” and I appreciated the honour all the more. As the Prince left our dining-room, one of the gentlemen of our party overheard him remark to his equerry: “Idolike Cooch Behar, he is such a straightforward man.” I remember how pleased I was when these words were repeated to me. That was my husband all through his life—straightforward. He scorned the subterfuges which those of his rank often adopt to please a censorious world. He was outspoken, and one who was never ashamed of his friends, whatever their position might be. Although he was the proudest of men, his simplicity was such that he believed hisjoie de vivrewould pass unnoticed, and that he might sometimes be allowed to live as a man and not as a Maharajah.
Queen Victoria displayed the most kindly interestin our doings. One day I was invited to take the children to Windsor Castle. I dressed them in their national costume, which pleased Her Majesty exceedingly. After a few minutes’ conversation the Queen said to me: “Do you remember this pendant, Maharani?”
I looked and saw that she was wearing the jewel which we had had the honour of presenting to Her Majesty. I felt very touched at the thought of her wearing our gift, and told Her Majesty so.
When we were saying good-bye the Queen graciously said: “You must let the children have some strawberries and fruit which I have had prepared in another room.” The children were not shy, and I never saw strawberries disappear so fast. Rajey soon confined his attention to some magnificent hothouse grapes. “Come away,” I said, for I began to dread the result of a prolonged riot in fruit. Both obeyed; but Rajey lifted up two enormous bunches of grapes and carried them off, much to the delight of Her Majesty.
I remember, too, how the late Emperor Frederick admired our little Jit, and taking the boy’s hand in his, said many kind words to him. I also had the great pleasure of seeing the Empress of Russia, then Princess Alex of Hesse, a young girl of sixteen, sitting on the carpet in the corridor playing with some small children and dogs. Her thick plait was hanging down her back, and when she lifted her large dark eyes, I said to myself: “What a lovelyface and what sad eyes!” It was indeed good to live in those happy days. What a pleasant picture I have in my memory of that afternoon of sunshine, friendly faces, and the Queen and Princess Beatrice waving us farewell!
I was once invited by the late Duchess of Connaught to lunch with H.R.H. at Windsor Castle. Mrs. Bignell accompanied me. It was indeed a great honour, as the Duchess did not ask any one but me. I was touched to find a King’s daughter, a Queen’s daughter-in-law, living like a very ordinary mother in her own home. I would have given much for my country-women to have seen the Duchess that day, with her little children.
We went to a grand garden-party at Buckingham Palace, at which thousands of men and women were assembled; it was a striking sight. I don’t think any one ever got a better chance of seeing so many pretty faces together. We were all waiting for the Queen’s arrival when some people came and asked us to make a passage for Her Majesty to pass. My husband stood right at the back, but I was always anxious to see everything, and stood in the front line. To my surprise Her Majesty walked straight up to me and kissed me, and I believe I was the only woman there whom the Queen kissed. I was greatly amused the following day when the newspapers made some sarcastic remarks about the Indian Princess receiving more attention than any of the others.
Another day we were commanded to dine with Her Majesty at Windsor Castle and spend the night there. When the train stopped at Windsor station we found a red carpet on the platform and the Royal carriage in waiting. Officers came to receive us; I felt quite grand, and how the crowd cheered us, and many a kind remark I heard from them. We drove up to the castle, and when we arrived we went straight to our rooms. I never saw anything so splendid and yet so comfortable. The sitting-room was facing the park, which was lovely in the sunshine, and the bedroom was all gilt from ceiling to floor—it was like fairyland. The only thing that puzzled me was that there should be no bathroom to such a lavishly furnished suite. I asked my husband in despair: “Can’t I have a bath after such a journey?” The Maharajah in his calm, quiet way said: “Sunity, there must be a bath in this room,” and he began to look for a door. Suddenly he found a button-like knob, and on pressing it a door sprang open, and there was a large room and a bath; I screamed with joy at the sight. I was struck with another thing; the face towels were of the finest linen. We had tea, and the Maharajah told me that if I received a present from Her Majesty I must thank her nicely. I kept on asking him what the present was, and why I should have it. My husband did not answer, and so I left off worrying him. I had not quite finished dressing when the Maharajah came and said anofficer had come to show us where we were to wait for Her Majesty. This made me more nervous than ever, and I could not put on my jewels properly, so my husband helped me to carry some necklets, bracelets, a fan, and gloves. As we came into the ante-room I was relieved to find that we were the first to arrive and I had time to put on the jewels and gloves. Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrice entered first, and soon alter Her Majesty walked in with a jewel-case in her hand. She gave it to me and kissed me and I curtsied several times, thanking Her Majesty for the gift. It was the decoration C.I., “Crown of India.” Her Majesty said a few words with it which I appreciated even more than the present. Her Majesty asked the Princess to pin it on for me, which H.R.H. did. I was no longer nervous, as both the Princess and Her Majesty were most gracious and kind and made me feel quite happy. Prince Henry of Battenberg was a dark, handsome man and seemed very nice. After a few minutes’ talk we walked into the dining-room. This was not a big room, but Her Majesty’s own private room. There were portraits of the Queen’s three daughters-in-law; that of the Princess of Wales as a bride was exquisite. Her Majesty sat in the middle, my husband on her right, Princess Beatrice on her left, and then me. When champagne went round and I refused it, Her Majesty noticed and asked my husband the reason. The Maharajah said I never took champagne or wine. This did not annoy thegood Queen, but seemed to please her. Her Majesty and Princess Beatrice both very kindly asked after my dear mother and grandmother, and how well Her Majesty remembered my revered father; she had a photograph of him. While we were at dinner we heard another guest had arrived, but he would not have any English food. After dinner was over this guest came in to see Her Majesty. He was an Indian Maharajah. We talked for some time after dinner. Princess Beatrice asked why more of our Indian ladies did not come to England, as H.M. the Queen loved seeing them. We stayed the night, but I do not think I slept much; lying in the gold bed I almost fancied myself a fairy princess. This suite of rooms was the Princess of Wales’s, so it was a great honour for us to have them.
There was no marked ceremony at these Royal parties, and everything was delightfully informal. There stand out in my memory a luncheon at Marlborough House, when the Princess of Wales gave me a lovely Russian cypher brooch, and atête-à-têtetea with her on another occasion when I took my babies with me. Jit was tremendously attracted by our beautiful hostess, who took his hand, saying as she did so: “What a pretty little boy! no wonder his mother was so anxious when he was ill.”
The kindness shown me by Queen Alexandra has never varied since those early days. Fate has dealt heavily with us both. We have each lost our idolised first-born. We have each lost the best ofhusbands. We have equally sorrowed. I think some subtle sympathy draws us together; each time I have visited her of late I have been struck afresh by her resigned expression, and I know that the Queen-Mother feels as I do, that “There’s not a joy the world can give like those it takes away.”
The Princess of Wales asked me one day what I thought of the shops in Bond Street, and if I often went to them. But somehow I never went into any except my dressmaker, Madame Oliver Holmes’s, and Hamley’s toy shop, where I felt like buying the whole shop, or spending all my time, it charmed me so much.
I enjoyed the theatres. One of the plays I shall ever remember was Shakespeare’s “Winter’s Tale.” Mary Anderson acted in it; it was magnificently staged, and Mary Anderson’s lovely face and good acting impressed me. One opera I went to—I forget the name—reminded me of our Indian love story, “Nal and Damayanti,” as swans come and bring love messages from lovers apart. Her Majesty had graciously lent us her box, and I think Madame Albani sang. I was much interested in the British Museum, and could have spent days and days looking at all the wonderful things in it. At the Naval Review I went to see the boats decorated with lights—the reflections in the water were splendid.I also went to see the Royal stable, a visit arranged for me by the late Lord Elphinstone, and Rajey was put in the Royal coach. I went to see Madame Tussaud’s, and was delighted with the figures, but had not the courage to go down into the Chamber of Horrors. I was much impressed by a large picture of the late Prince Imperial with the Zulus attacking him. I went to see the Tower of London and was much interested. We also visited Edinburgh: what a lovely town it is! We went to the castle, and my childhood came back to me as my eldest brother had told me the story of this castle when we were children. We went to Holyrood Palace one afternoon. The guide as usual began to show me every room and every corner of the palace relating all the stories attached, which took hours, and the Maharajah grew tired, as I kept him with me, telling him every time he wanted to go: “I won’t be long.” But when the guide brought some bits of the old paper from the walls in Queen Mary’s time the Maharajah got quite impatient. It rained and looked very dark and dismal that afternoon, and I brought away a very sad picture in my heart of the beautiful Queen being beheaded. I am happy to know that in our country there has never been a Queen so cruel as to murder her first cousin.
One evening at dinner, during our stay in London, the Duke of Manchester sat next to me, and the conversation naturally turned on India and the rapid progress of the country. I was feeling a littlesore, as for some unaccountable reason my husband had not been given any Jubilee decoration, and I think I must have let the Duke perceive it. “Well, Maharani,” he said, “after all Cooch Behar is a very small State. Surely you don’t expect the Maharajah to get a decoration?”
I got rather excited over this. “If a boy goes to school, Duke,” I answered, “and does his best but does not get promotion, what encouragement is there for him to work? The Maharajah has done more than any other Ruler to improve the condition of his State, and I think his efforts deserve recognition.”
The Duke was amused. “Why don’t you talk to the Prince of Wales?” he suggested; “I’m sure he would be delighted at your championship.” I must here record that when I arrived in India at the close of my visit, leaving the Maharajah still in England, he cabled that “Her Majesty is graciously pleased to confer on me the G.C.I.E.;” but although greatly honoured and proud, I was sorry that it was not the G.C.S.I., which I am sure is what H.M. meant to give.
We went to Brighton for a few days for the Goodwood Races. We used to go to the races every day, and enjoyed the drives up the hills much. The first two days the Maharajah was absent; he was paying a promised visit to an old friend. When I met His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales at the races he graciously expressed a wish to be introduced to a cousin of the Maharajah’s who was withme. H.R.H. said to my cousin he was sorry the Maharajah was not there; in answer to this my cousin replied that the Maharajah had gone to Leonard’s, meaning my husband had gone to stay with Mr. Leonard, but the Prince thought the Maharajah had gone to St. Leonards, and said a few things about that seaside place. The Prince kindly introduced me to Mrs. Arthur Sassoon, a very handsome woman. She kindly asked me to lunch with her, I think at the Prince’s request. At luncheon I had the honour of sitting on the left of H.R.H., and I saw a saucer which contained green chillies in front of him.
“Do you like chillies, sir?” I could not resist asking. And the Prince told me he liked nothing better than Indian dishes, a taste acquired, I feel sure, when he paid his memorable visit to our country. That luncheon party was most delightful. The late King Edward had a most wonderful personality. How he remembered things, and how kindly he spoke of India and everything there!
In London I was asked to many dances, and I enjoyed them one and all. They were all full of pretty faces and dresses. The first time I saw Lady Randolph Churchill she wore a perfectly-fitting maroon-coloured velvet dress; I was at the time with Prince George of Wales, our present King. He pointed out Lady Randolph to me and told me who she was.
My husband and I made a similar mistake attwo different dances. At the Duchess of Leeds’ ball, I was engaged for a dance to the Earl of Durham. When the dance which I thought was his came, and a gentleman happened to come near me, I asked, “Is this your dance?” the gentleman looked rather amused and said, “You must have taken me for my brother;” he was Lord Durham’s twin brother. At another dance we met Lord Abergavenny’s twin daughters, Lady Violet and Lady Rose Neville; they were both very pretty and good dancers. My husband was engaged to dance with one, and mistook the other for her.
I went once to a violin concert; I shall never forget it. Dozens of pretty girls dressed in white sat in a gallery and played melodies; the music was beautiful. I went to a very grand dance at Lady Revelstoke’s; everything was arranged perfectly, I did so enjoy it. At this dance I was sitting next to Lady ⸺ when I saw a striking sight: a very tall couple stood at the door at the further end of the room; I had never thought till then that very tall people could ever be very handsome, but when the late Lady Ripon and her brother stood in the drawing-room all eyes were fixed on them, for they were remarkably good-looking.
Lady Abergavenny gave a dance. What a grand sight it was! There were so many beautiful dresses and lovely faces; the music and the supper both were excellent, and the hostess was charming. Lord and Lady Headfort, the present Lady Suffield’sparents, were very kind to the Maharajah and to me. Everything was well done, and the hostess’s pretty daughters made the bright scene brighter.
One day we went to a delightful afternoon party at Hatfield House. Hundreds of guests travelled down by a special train. When we arrived at the station we found a number of carriages ready to convey us to the house. As I stood there with my husband waiting for a carriage the Maharajah of Cutch, who with his brother was already seated, asked us to get into his carriage. I hesitated a moment, and when I got in, as he is of higher rank than we are, he asked me to sit beside him. I wanted to be next my husband, but the Maharajah of Cutch insisted, and so my husband and the brother sat opposite. In the next day’s newspapers we were described as the Maharajah and Maharani of Cutch, accompanied by the Maharajah of Cooch Behar. I was much annoyed, and asked my husband to contradict the report, but he only regarded it as a joke, and said teasingly, “Why, Cutch is much better-looking than I am.” After tea the Princess of Wales, who had been talking to me in the gardens, turned to Princess Victoria and said: “Now, Victoria, take the Maharani and show her the Maze. I’m sure she hasn’t seen one yet.”
I certainly had never ventured inside a maze, but I followed Princess Victoria and Princess Hélène of Orleans unhesitatingly in and out of the winding paths of the labyrinth until we were really lost.We ran screaming deeper and deeper into the maze, and, as “time and tide wait for no man,” we realised that we should probably not be able to return to London until very late. We were all wearing dainty muslin and lace gowns; but, regardless of them, we simply broke through the hedges in our search for an exit, and finally emerged with our dresses in ribbons; mine streamed behind me, and the Princesses were in no better plight.
Years afterwards, at King Edward’s Coronation, we went to Hatfield again. When we were received by our host, Lord Salisbury, he looked curiously at me. “In 1887,” he said, “a Maharani of Cooch Behar came to Hatfield House and lost herself in our maze.Youcan’t possibly be the lady, for you are much too young.” I assured him that I was none other, and woman-like I was delighted to know that Time had dealt so lightly with me.
The most appreciated compliment that I think was ever paid to me was uttered as we were returning to town from this garden-party. As we passed through the crowd to our carriage, I heard a woman remark: “Isn’t she pretty?”
“Yes,” answered her friend, “but it is not only a pretty face, it is also a good face.”
The late Lady Salisbury was always very kind to me, and on the night of an India Office party we dined there first, and our hostess took me on with her in her cee-spring carriage. I was talking to her as I got in and forgot the sort of carriage it was,so that I felt very shy indeed as I found myself half lying down. It was largely owing to her kindness that I enjoyed the India Office party enormously. We went to an evening party at the Duchess of Teck’s, and there I was introduced to a blind Prince, the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, the husband of Her late Majesty’s first cousin. When I was introduced to him by his wife he paid me a great compliment. “You are looking beautiful, Princess,” he said. I asked why he said this. “Because,” he answered, “your voice is so lovely.”
I was not to leave England without experiencing some of the famous country-house hospitality. We paid a delightful visit to Blair Atholl. The Duke and Duchess were very kind, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself; still I did not find the Scotch scenery half so grand as the mountains of my native land. One day when the Duke was taking Lady Strathmore and me for a drive we passed some white heather, and she exclaimed: “Oh, do stop, there’s white heather, the Maharani must have some.” The dear old Duke got down from the carriage and dutifully gathered the coveted flowers, while Lady Strathmore explained their mystic properties to me. “Now you will have luck,” she said as she gave me a spray. It was the first time I had heard of the superstition, though there are many pretty legends about flowers in India.
One evening we went with the Duchess to a ball, and she decided to go home early. I was tired andasked if I might go with her, and so the Duchess, her sister Lady Strathmore, and I returned to the castle. I had told my maid to leave my door unlocked, and to sleep in the dressing-room, but when we tried to open my door none of us could manage it. One of the ladies therefore went round and woke up the maid, who simply turned the handle and the door was open. We looked at each other with surprise, and as I felt rather nervous the kind ladies had a good search in case there was a burglar. I well remember Lady Strathmore saying: “There are things in this world which our human eyes cannot see.” I liked Lady Strathmore, she was such a handsome woman and very clever. I am very sorry I never accepted any of her kind invitations, but I had heard about the ghosts of Glamis Castle. The Maharajah was disappointed, as he was anxious to go and see the old castle, and to shoot, and I deprived him of both these pleasures. At the Blair gathering a very unusual compliment was paid to my husband’s dancing; Lady Salterne said: “It is a dream to dance with the Maharajah of Cooch Behar.”
At Blair Atholl I heard the bagpipes for the first time, but I am afraid I did not wax enthusiastic over their melody. I look back with pleasure to the time I spent in Scotland. I was treated like a child, and petted and spoilt by every one, and I quite enjoyed the experience.
I went to stay with the Morgans at Cambridge; he was the Master of Jesus College. No one couldhave received a grander impression of a college than I did. Mrs. Morgan was most kind-hearted, and, I am sure, although she was quite young, she must have helped the students when they were in difficulties. While we were talking our hostess said: “Baby is coming.” I asked her who “Baby” was, and she said, “My sister.” Soon after “Baby” arrived—the mother of children. It was sweet to hear her elder sister call her “Baby.” In the evening a party was given at which we met all the great wise men. None were good-looking nor young, but all were clever, and what interesting talks we had. My hostess afterwards told me some of them exclaimed, “What sparkling eyes!” when they first saw me. The next day was Sunday, and we went to church three times. A boy with a most glorious voice sang by himself; it filled the church and thrilled our hearts.
The Ripons also entertained us at Studley Royal, and there the Maharajah had some partridge shooting. Studley Royal is a fine house and handsomely furnished. I enjoyed my stay there thoroughly. Lady Ripon kindly drove me over to see several interesting ruins. In one, an old building without any roof, I was struck by a fine carving on a mantelpiece of King Solomon’s judgment, and I remembered how this story had been told to us by our dear father at the Asram when we were young. One day I went to see Mrs. Vyner, Lady Ripon’s mother. On our way we visited a cottage, the home of a ploughman,whose middle-aged wife welcomed us. How interested I was to see it! The little cottage was perfectly clean, there was a small sitting-room, with a few flowers, the paper near the fireplace was white, and I thought it was white marble, there were two little bedrooms, and a kitchen where they dined. A heap of potatoes was under a water-tap, and there was a nice little kitchen garden. Afterwards we drove on to Mrs. Vyner’s. Mrs. Vyner must have been a lovely woman in her young days. She sat in her drawing-room all by herself. As we came near the room Lady Ripon most affectionately called, “Darling, are you there?” I was very touched. I was there for some time. Mrs. Vyner’s house was furnished with most valuable things. The marble figures and furniture were wonderful. Studley Royal is a picturesque and pretty place; many of the rooms have Indian furniture, and there is a huge stuffed tiger in the hall. In Lady Ripon’s town house there is a miniature Indian mud village most perfectly made. We had rather an amusing experience coming back from Ripon. The station officials had omitted to place a “Reserved” notice on our carriage, and at Newcastle a North Country magnate invaded our privacy. I did not like the prospect of travelling with a complete stranger, and my husband politely told the man: “This is a reserved carriage.”
“There’s nothing to show that it is reserved,” he answered.
“But I tell you it is,” said the Maharajah. “The omission of the ticket is due to an oversight on the part of the station-master.”
“Well, you haven’t got an option on the train,” the stranger answered rudely, and with these words he began settling himself and his belongings.
“I’m very sorry,” said my husband, “but you must get out.”
“Must I, indeed? We’ll see about that,” retorted the intruder. At this moment the Maharajah’s valet came up the platform, and, horrified at the annoyance we were being caused, he called the guard, who promptly requested the gentleman to go into another compartment. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he called to a porter to take his dressing-case, and as he hurried away he may have heard my husband say: “I’m really very sorry you are so inconvenienced.”
When the Maharajah spoke to King Edward, then Prince of Wales, about our journey and the strange conduct of this man, His Royal Highness was much annoyed.
I could not accept an invitation to Sandringham, as I was in delicate health, and beginning to feel over-fatigued by much travelling. Her Majesty graciously intimated that she wished to be godmother to the expected baby, an honour which we greatly appreciated.
As it was getting cold, the children, in the charge of my brother Profulla, went back to India a fewweeks before I did. It was the first time I had an English governess, an English nursery maid, and dear old Mrs. Eldridge. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, I do not know, but every English girl I have had in the house has got married in India; even Mrs. Eldridge left me to marry a station-master. My friends used to tease me and say: “Your house is a regular matrimonial agency; if any one wants to get married, they must come to you.”
The Maharajah wished to do a little hunting, and as I was going all the way by sea, I left my husband in England. When we arrived at Malta H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh came on board to see me, and I much appreciated his kind thought. He talked to me for some time, asked me news of London, and most kindly said he would send his A.D.C. to take me to the Royal Opera that evening, where his box was at my disposal. While we were talking, an old lady, one of the passengers, brought a few flowers for a button-hole, and presented it to H.R.H. How graciously the Duke accepted it, and pinned it on his coat! After the lady had gone I asked the Duke if he knew her, and his answer was “No.” This shows what wonderful manners the Royal Princes have; they can make even perfect strangers feel at ease.
On this homeward voyage, I could not help feeling that I was very different from the rather timid little person who had set out on the GreatAdventure, and even little Rajey seemed to have become less of a child. “I am a big boy now, I don’t want people to kiss me when we arrive in Calcutta,” he told his doctor.
On my arrival at Bombay I found my dear mother with my younger sisters and brothers awaiting my arrival; also the Dewan of Cooch Behar and the doctor. What an affectionate welcome I had! My sisters hung round me and caressed me, and we all talked at the same time and laughed; it was too lovely for words. They thought I was looking so pretty, and said that even my hair had grown prettier. Some wanted to brush my hair, others to dress me in pretty saris, and we talked and talked all day and all night.
We stayed only a very few days at Bombay, and then went on to Calcutta. I was received at the station by Sir Henry Carnduff, and every one welcomed me and seemed glad that the visit had proved such a success. Lord Dufferin informed me that the Queen had written to him saying that she was “charmed with the little Maharani,” a remark which pleased me immensely. I drove straight to Woodlands, and there I found numbers of friends; we had a special service, and a lovely Indian breakfast. On the following day I went to Lily Cottage, and the welcome I had there I cannot describe. I had a Varan (welcome) ceremony and wonderful meals and congratulations continually pouring in; I don’t think any Indian woman ever had or ever willhave such a welcome as I had that first time I returned from England. It is a glorious memory to have.
When my husband returned from England he had grand welcome receptions. It is said that such a magnificent elephant procession as he had from the station to the palace had never been seen before. I was not very well and could not accompany him to Cooch Behar. Victor was born on the 21st of May. There were great rejoicings at his birth, which took place at Woodlands; the Maharajah was delighted. We felt it a great honour that Queen Victoria should be his godmother; it was the first time an Indian Maharajah and Maharani had been thus honoured. He was named after her, and Her Majesty sent him a large silver cup. My great regret is that Victor never had the privilege of seeing his Empress godmother.
When we went to Cooch Behar I naturally expected all our people to say something nice to me about our visit to England, and they did, except one man, the Dewan Calica Das Dutt, whose remarks were somewhat like this: “What have they gained by going to England? Instead of having the Queen as godmother to the little Raj Kumar it would have been better if the Maharajah had had some guns.”
Victor is the sweetest-natured boy imaginable—most tender-hearted, kind, and unselfish. He adores and worships his brother Jit. As a little boy he always gave in to Jit; if it was Victor’s birthday Jit must have a present too. If Victorwent anywhere Jit must go too. They were like twin brothers.
Once at a polo tournament at which I had to give away the prizes, Victor, then a little boy, and who was present with my other children, suddenly disappeared. He had seen a lady sitting in a carriage by herself. He offered to get in and sit with her. “No, dear,” the lady said, “you must go and watch with the other children.” But Victor insisted: “You are alone,” he said, “and I must come and sit with you,” and he did. The lady said to me afterwards, “Some day Victor will be a great man.” His one desire is to help and to serve others, and he never hesitates to sacrifice his own comfort and happiness in so doing.