by Anand, Anita
Before parting, Duleep had quietly pressed a piece of paper into Edward’s hand. On it, in trembling handwriting, he had written five words from Psalm 23: ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’. It was perhaps a clue that despite his baptism into the Sikh faith, the Christian teachings he had received at John Login’s knee as a boy, around the same age as Edward was now, still meant the most to him.
One week after his father’s departure, thirteen-year-old Edward Duleep Singh, the most beloved brother of Princess Sophia, died. Sophia was at his bedside the whole time. The family decided that the best place to lay the boy to rest was at his mother’s side. Sophia was forced once more to make the trip up to Elveden for the interment of another she had loved dearly. With memories of the Maharani Bamba’s death still fresh in her mind, so it was that Sophia watched as the little coffin was lowered into the Suffolk earth where she and Edward had played in infancy. Sophia could not have guessed that in less than six months, the soil of St Andrew’s graveyard would once again be churned by her misery and grief.
The Maharajah returned to Paris alone. The hotel in which he lodged was an airless gloomy place, which darkened further with news of Edward’s death. When Duleep had made the voyage to France he had given up any hope of seeing his youngest son alive again. More than that, he had given up his own will to live.
The rooms he rented at the Hôtel La Tremouille were shabby and unloved. Just two minutes’ walk from the Champs-Elysées, Tremouille’s nineteenth-century exterior spoke of Napoleonic grandeur. Inside, however, the fabrics and paints were faded and a musty smell of neglect hung heavy in the air. Duleep knew that his mind and body were failing as he shambled about the cluttered suite. His latest heart attack had been devastating, and at fifty-five, his diminished mobility and lack of independence were hard for him to bear. The Maharajah now lived as a social pariah. His infirmity and humbled situation embarrassed those who had formerly vied to be seen in his company. Invitations had long since dried up, and very few of his friends either called on him or wrote. Ada, meanwhile, was in England, planning their new life with the help of her stepson Prince Frederick. Once again she had found it easier to leave little Pauline and Irene behind in Paris, in the care of their nanny.
For years the Maharajah had been able to close his eyes to the plight of the family he had left behind in England, taken up as he was with Ada. In his mind, his greater aim, the all-consuming obsession to reclaim the Sikh Empire, absolved him of any sense of guilt for his betrayal of Bamba and their children. Those dreams of the Punjab now lay in ashes, and over the course of the past twelve months he had seen with his own eyes how much his sons and daughters had missed him and how much they had suffered.
On the night of 21 October 1893, Duleep suffered a catastrophic fit in his bedroom. He remained unconscious and undiscovered until the next day. For hours he lay cold and powerless to move on the floor, until eventually his heart gave up. He died, quietly and alone. It was impossible to know how quickly death had come to Duleep. He was only found when the hotel proprietor, Monsieur Lafond, grew anxious that his chambermaids could not get access to the rooms. ‘A physician was summoned without delay, but was only able to pronounce life extinct.’27
Arthur Oliphant managed to assemble a fuller picture of the Maharajah’s last day by piecing together reports from the nanny, hotel staff, Victor, friends in Paris and the Reuters news agency. As ever, he passed on everything he knew to Queen Victoria:
On Saturday the 21st (on the night of which he was taken ill), he had the two little girls to see him three times, and gave them each a hawk’s bell which on other occasions they had been allowed to play with and then only when they were good . . . The elder little girl told her father that she had heard from mummy and was writing to her. The Maharajah told her ‘to give his love to her mother and ask when she was coming back’.28
The Oliphants did their best to comfort the distraught Sophia. Having barely recovered from the loss of her mother and brother, she was plunged into grief once more. Those around her had seen how much she had looked forward to being reunited with Duleep and worried about the long-term effects on the young princess. Frederick and Ada immediately left London for Paris to arrange the Maharajah’s funeral, while Victor, who had been visiting his best friend Lord Carnarvon in Germany, arrived soon after.
Queen Victoria wrote to Victor, the son and heir, to express her condolences and to reaffirm her commitment to the late Maharajah’s children:
I need hardly say how I like to dwell on former years when I knew your dear father so well, saw him so often & we were all so fond of him. He was so handsome so charming. But I will not dwell on the few after years which followed, which were so painful. It is however a great comfort & satisfaction to me that I saw the Maharajah two years and a half ago at Grasse & that all was made up between us…
Pray accept this expression of my warmest sympathy in your heavy loss & convey the same to your brothers and sisters. Be assured that I shall always take the deepest interest in the welfare and happiness of yourself and your Brother and Sisters. Believe me always, your affectionate friend and Godmother. Victoria R.I.29
Arrangements were made for Duleep’s body to be brought back to England. Before his death, their father had expressed a desire to be buried wherever he might die, but his children collectively overruled this final wish. His Royal Highness the Maharajah Duleep Singh would receive a Christian burial in the shadow of Elveden Hall, next to his first Maharani, Bamba, and their son Prince Edward. Ada voiced no objection.
The Maharajah’s body was returned on the midnight boat from Dieppe to Newhaven on 26 October, and from there was transported to St Pancras station where a special train took him, for the last time, to Thetford. Workers from the old estate waited at the station for their former master to arrive, their caps clutched to their chests. The body was taken to lie in the very church which the Maharajah had remodelled in happier times.
Early the next day, Sophia and her family followed on a train to Thetford, and from the station they departed for the church in a sombre procession of carriages. They were followed by Lord Camoys and Colonel Stanley Clarke, distinguished representatives sent by Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales. In the churchyard Arthur Oliphant stood inconspicuously in the shadows, keeping a close eye on his youngest charge, wondering whether Princess Sophia had any tears left to weep.
Before the Maharajah’s body could be lowered into the ground, the abundance of wreaths and flowers had to be moved from the top of the coffin. A large and ostentatious cross, fashioned from white flowers and woven through with violets spelling out ‘ADA’ dominated the pile.30 In contrast, a beautiful and understated wreath bearing the words ‘from Queen Victoria’ gave away little of the intense feelings which must have stirred in the heart of its sender. The Prince of Wales, despite his estrangement from Duleep, was more emotional in his tribute. The note accompanying Bertie’s wreath read, ‘For Auld Lang Syne, Albert Edward’.31
The small church where Duleep’s coffin stood was crammed with officials and starchy looking strangers. Most of those who had enjoyed Duleep’s friendship in life did not attend in person, for even though the Queen of England had forgiven him, they had not. With the last of the dirt shovelled onto the grave, the British must surely have believed that their troubles with the Duleep Singhs were also dead and buried.
7
Polishing the Diamond
As Princess Sophia was gently guided away from her father’s graveside, it seemed unlikely that she would ever take up the mantle of radical political dissent. At seventeen years old, Sophia was seen as a docile little thing, damaged by the tragedy of her short life. She had grown into an awkward-looking young woman. Thicker about the waist than either of her sisters, Sophia had neither the fine-boned elegance of Catherine, nor the full pouting mouth and fiery glint which made Bamba such a fierce beauty. The only vaguely rebellious thing about Sophia was her long hair, with curls that constantly escaped from numerous pins and com
bs. Her teeth had shifted during her adolescence, leaving her with a slight overbite which she exacerbated with her strained, tight smiles. She spoke little and was barely audible when she did.
Once again, on Palace instructions, the princess’s guardians attempted to build up her confidence. Her deportment lessons increased in frequency and tutors who had worked with members of European royalty were drafted in to work on her posture. Yet despite their efforts, and her natural talent for music and dance, Sophia spent most of her adolescence hating the attention. She spoke in a breathy, alto voice, barely audible to all but those close to her. When having her photograph taken, she preferred not to look into the lens at all, instead standing in profile so that she could gaze off into some middle distance. Acutely sensitive about her appearance, Sophia looked to her sisters for reassurance, sending them portraits for their approval and never truly believing them when they called her beautiful.
Yet, much as it had for her mother, Sophia’s charm and fragility endeared her to all who came into contact with her, whereas the other Duleep Singh princesses rarely failed to provoke irritation. Even before the Maharajah’s death, Sophia’s eldest sister Bamba had been causing much annoyance with her constant questions about the type of treatment she might expect when she reached the age of majority. At twenty-one, unmarried women in England could inherit money and property; though it was not yet clear what remained of Duleep’s estate for her to inherit, Bamba demanded that her legal position be acknowledged.
Even though Princess Bamba, like her sisters, was entirely dependent on the British government, she found it impossible to moderate her imperious tone. She made it clear that she expected all titles and honours to be bestowed upon the Duleep Singh princesses, as befitted the heirs to the Sikh Kingdom. At no point did she acknowledge that they would be destitute without Queen Victoria’s patronage, who she also referred to as Mrs Fagin, like her father before her.1
While Sophia showed polite gratitude, Bamba fired off questions to the Palace and to the India Office in so brusque a manner that she succeeded in alienating all who had power over her. Sir Henry Ponsonby, the Queen’s private secretary, was particularly exasperated and referred the matter up to the sovereign herself. In 1889 he wrote: ‘Princess Bamba is 20 and may wish to go to Court next year. Should she be allowed to come? And as a Princess? She is very particular to be so treated.’2 Her other guardian, Lord Henniker, vetoed the move: ‘I do not think that Bamba should come out in society yet. She is 20 but her early training makes it difficult for her to join in general society at present i.e. she is very young for her age.’3
The snub came as a bitter blow to the headstrong princess. With her letters either ignored by the government or rebuffed by her guardians, Bamba was left in limbo, which only succeeded in souring her disposition further. It was only in 1893, when Sophia, the Queen’s clear favourite, neared the age of her own majority that there seemed any impetus to decide the future of the Duleep Singh princesses. Despite her advisers’ reservations, Queen Victoria ordained that the time was right to settle the girls’ financial and social positions. Their father’s transgressions notwithstanding, the girls would be granted a full debut in society alongside the highest members of British aristocracy. The ritual of ‘coming out’ was considered integral to the establishment of a young woman’s place in society, and usually took place when a girl turned eighteen, rather than twenty-five and twenty-three, as in the case of Sophia’s sisters.
Meanwhile, the India Office found itself being pressured gently by Sir Henry Ponsonby to decide how much money the princesses might be given to live on. Sir Owen Tudor Burne, a former private secretary to the Viceroy of India, laid out the amounts the Government of India was willing to settle on the children: ‘The five girls, (Bamba, Katherine, Sophy and two of the second family) will receive about £22,000 each, or about £600 a year each, and the two elder ones £10,000 on marriage. As to the three elder girls, the trustees remain on a special arrangement until 31 March 1894 . . . and the India Office will pay their expenses up to that date, as a gift, to the extent of £800. After that, they will have to make their own arrangements on their own income which they receive from the dates of the MR’s death (22 Oct 1893).’4
Sir Owen made it clear that the amounts were non-negotiable and any calls for greater generosity would be met with resistance: ‘On the whole, this is, I think, a fair provision for all; more than I expected, and as much as can be done without a strong remonstrance from the Indian Govt!’5 Burne’s letter also revealed the date Bamba, Catherine and Sophia would be free of their guardians. It was a time the two eldest sisters looked forward to with impatience. However, at seventeen years of age, and never having experienced any degree of autonomy before, Sophia found the prospect daunting. The Oliphants had always shown her great kindness, and she in turn had fond feelings for them. There was never an explanation from the Government of India why Sophia would not, like her sisters, be provided with a dowry; perhaps it just implied that she was more anglicised than the others and unlikely therefore to settle with an Eastern potentate.
The financial settlement also placed Ada’s children on a largely equal footing with Sophia, Catherine and Bamba, however they were only referred to as ‘the two of the second family’. Moreover, seeing Pauline and Irene mentioned in the same legal document forced Sophia and her siblings to confront their own relationship with Ada’s daughters. The princesses responded in very different ways. Bamba was resentful, having over the years come to the conclusion that Ada was a British spy, sent to wreck her parents’ marriage and spoil her father’s chances of regaining his throne. Catherine, on the other hand, maintained a cool indifference, her mind on affairs of the heart. Her intense friendship with Lina Schaeffer had become the only thing that mattered to her, and she longed to escape England for ever, for a life with Lina in Germany.
Of the three girls, Sophia alone welcomed her half-sisters. In the thrall of Bamba when it came to most issues, in this matter she was fiercely independent. Although Pauline and Irene were just six and four and still living in Paris with their mother, Sophia wrote them friendly letters. Victor already enjoyed a good relationship with Ada, though showed no interest in her children. Only Freddie shared Sophia’s warmth, welcoming the girls and Ada into his life and his home, whenever they wished to stay.
Freddie and Victor were far better placed to lend support in family matters. The Maharajah’s sons had received more favourable financial settlements than the girls, who had been granted just £600 a year to live on, compared to Victor who had been promised £5,000 a year and Freddie £2,000.6 Whereas Victor frittered away much of his fortune on gambling and high living, Freddie opted for a quieter life and would become known for his philanthropy and loyalty to the throne. He offered Ada help to find a home in England and would remain a source of financial stability for her and the children throughout their lives.
Ada opted to stay on in France for a few years more. She had no reason to hurry back. Besides, the glamour of the single life in Paris and the draw of the roulette tables of Monaco were too appealing. The modest India Office settlement and the access to more generous funds for her daughters provided an independent income at last. For the first time in her life, Ada was solvent and free and she wanted to celebrate. Her young daughters had no choice but to remain with her. Throughout their time together in France, Irene would later recall, she never received the maternal attention she so desperately craved.
Back in England, Sophia decided to face her future away from the Oliphants head-on. The months in Brighton passed in a crucible of intense study. The princess threw herself into her academic lessons and tutorials with more zeal than ever before, and as the date of her formal release from her guardians – 31 March 1894 – approached, she began to walk with a straighter back, and sit with her chin up. Sophia learned to override her shyness and make polite conversation, never saying anything that might cause offence but always having something to say. She learned to be proud of her mu
sical abilities and friends found they could at last persuade her to play the piano at small social gatherings. It might have been fear of the impending coming-out ceremony which drove her to improve herself, or the realisation that her transition to adulthood was likely to prove a jarring experience. Whatever the motivation, she practised everything she turned her hand to and worked with extreme diligence. Reports from the princess’s headmistress were more than satisfactory and all who met her remarked on her metamorphosis.
As Sophia was being congratulated for her success, Bamba and Catherine were graduating from university with far less fanfare. Arthur Oliphant informed the Palace in his final report on his charges: ‘I feel sure that the Queen will like to hear of Princess Catherine Duleep Singh having taken honours (III Class, in French and German) at the close of her Oxford career. Princess Bamba (the elder of the two) has not been successful I am sorry to say. As these Princesses are no longer under our charge, I fear my reports for the information of Her Majesty must now cease.’7
Although he was, as ever, lukewarm in his appraisal of the senior sisters, Oliphant betrayed a degree of pride when relating news of ‘Sophy’. ‘I am glad to say she is doing very well at Brighton,’ he reported. ‘She will terminate her four years stay at Miss Parkinson’s school there next month – and her desire is to go to reside in a German family for six months to complete her education in German.’8
This last was a surprising wish, since Sophia had shown very little sign of an adventurous spirit before. As her family and guardians knew only too well, the princess enjoyed nothing more than staying at home, finding strangers too taxing and her shyness too difficult to overcome. But Catherine’s close relationship with Miss Schaeffer had made Sophia curious about Lina’s homeland and she wanted to see it with her own eyes. Neither Sophia nor Bamba ever reproached Catherine for her unconventional closeness with their governess. Lina and Catherine were devoted to one another; Sophia would later describe their relationship as ‘intimate’.9 Catherine found her little sister’s acceptance especially valuable, as Sophia was usually far from tolerant when it came to matters of sexuality. Any hint of impropriety made her feel prudish and uncomfortable. She, like her mother, had a deeply Christian view of the world, and personally showed no interest in men or women at the time. Permission to visit Germany for a long stay was granted by the princesses’ guardians and, with the encouragement of the Palace, a wider Grand Tour was suggested. The proposed itinerary would allow Sophia and her sisters to stay in Germany for four months, with a further two months’ travel around the Mediterranean on their way home. They would visit Greece, Egypt and Italy, studying the classics and improving their knowledge of the world. The arrangement suited Queen Victoria, for it gave her valuable time to decide what to do with Sophia in the long term.
