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 little sore, 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 with me. 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 at two 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’s parents, 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. You can’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 and asked 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 could have 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 few weeks 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 Great Adventure, 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 will have 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 Victor went 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.

When Jit was a little boy my sister Bino had twins, and when he heard it he said: “God has given Bino Auntie those as Christmas presents.”

After I returned from England, some English ladies in Simla expected to find me quite spoilt by being so much with the Royal Family and receiving such kindness from them, but I heard afterwards they were pleased to find me otherwise. I certainly began to “live” in a worldly sense. I entertained and was entertained, and I tried to show our Indian ladies that it is quite possible for them to have many social interests and good and true English friends, but I never allowed my devotion to Indian home-life to lessen. When I visited my relations, I sat on the floor as of old, and was one of them just as if I had not left the zenana. Our Indian ladies never weary of listening to the story of my doings in England. “Go on, go on!” they exclaim, whenever I pause to remember something else.

We had a tennis party every week, and sometimes twelve sets going, and always more than two hundred people were invited. Once when the band was playing the National Anthem Jit from the upstairs verandah sang, “God save our gracious Queen.” Lady Charles Elliott, who was present, said: “How I wish Her Majesty could hear the little boy! What a loyal little fellow he is!”

About this time my husband lost his step-sister, a very charming lady whose estate was quite close to Cooch Behar. Just before we went to England she wished to adopt one of our sons, but I did not take the suggestion seriously. At her death she bequeathed her property to my husband, who generously gave half to his sister’s mother-in-law. Every one was anxious that my husband’s share should revert to one of the boys, but the Dewan would not hear of it, and Panga was added to the State. It rested ultimately with Rajey to carry out the popular wishes, and now this State belongs to my third son, Victor.

At a Government House ball I was introduced to the late Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I thought him handsome in a stolid fashion. I had been looking at him with some interest, when to my surprise an A.D.C., came up and told me that His Imperial Highness wished to make my acquaintance. He was duly presented, but was very silent; I soon discovered, however, that he did not know the English language. I afterwards asked my friend the A.D.C. to tell me what remark the Archduke had made. I received this unexpected reply: “H.I.H. said, ‘What eyes!’”

I met another charming Austrian, Prince Charles Kinsky, at Government House, and sometimes drove with him. One evening when we were out it grew rather late. Now, I always liked to hear my children say their prayers, and wish them good night, for my home was my paradise, and I was most proud of my nursery. So I told the Prince I must get back, and why. Then we talked about home-life; he seemed so interested in the conversation, and I think he paid me the best compliment that a bachelor could pay. He said: “I hope if ever I marry that my wife will give me as happy a home as you give the Maharajah.” His words were so earnest that I wondered if some European ladies had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

Our mood changed from grave to gay when we discovered that, owing to the high trap and my trailing skirt, I could not manage to get down. Word of my plight was sent to the Maharajah, who was playing billiards. He thought it a great joke, and without any ado he lifted me out and carried me into the home which Prince Kinsky had been praising so much.