Victoria & Abdul (19 page)

Lord Cross replied:

I felt quite sure that you would do nothing to cause the Munshi, Abdul Karim, to lose his head. I always told the Queen that I was sure that you would do what was right, and no more, and that I could not myself say what was right and proper, and what was not, but that I left it all to you, and that the Queen might rest quite satisfied.
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It was the first time the Viceroy of India had been asked to meet an Indian clerk, who had once been no more than a humble servant. It was clear to him, however, that the Queen held the Munshi in high regard and the Viceroy did not want to upset her, even though he clearly found her demands trying.

The Queen replied to him by telegram on 16 December: ‘Received kind letter of 26th and am most grateful for kindness to Munshi.’ The Viceroy’s letter, however, needed to be responded to in full. The Queen sat at her desk in Windsor Castle, missing as she always did on these occasions, the reassuring presence of
Karim by her side, and replied to Lord Lansdowne. After thanking him once again for his kindness to Karim, she added:

But she wishes to express to him how much she regrets the extraordinary behaviour of Sir J Tyler, who had nothing to do with the Munshi at all on this occasion. He was a personal friend of Dr Wuzeeruddin, and when the Queen Empress asked Sir John Tyler, after the Colonial Exhibition in 1886, to procure her 2 Indian attendants, Abdul Karim and another excellent man, but of very inferior class were sent over and only engaged for a year. It was the Queen’s own selection. On account of the intelligence, education and very high character of the Munshi that the Queen engaged him as her Munshi and clerk early in 1888, and persuaded him to remain permanently with her, which he hesitated to do on account of the separation from his parents and family to whom he is devotedly attached. He has written and telegraphed to beg the Queen to thank the Viceroy for his and Maud’s great kindness to him and his family.

The Queen Empress is entirely satisfied and pleased with what the Viceroy has done, but she trusts that the unfortunate language of Sir John Tyler has not given the Viceroy a bad opinion of the poor Munshi, as he really is a most excellent, high principled and gentlemanlike young man, worthy of the kindness and distinctions which have been bestowed on him. Sir John Tyler did express his gratitude to the Queen for all that had been done for himself, but he is a very irascible man, with a violent temper and a total want of tact, and his own enemy, but v. kind-hearted and hospitable, a very good official, and a first-rate physician. He has, from his knowing so many people all over India, been very useful in procuring servants for the Queen, all of whom have turned out extremely well.

Though Sir A Colvin may not have said anything to the Viceroy against Sir John Tyler and his friends, the Queen must tell him frankly that he is very much disliked for his overbearing manners, and that he is ill-disposed towards Sir John Tyler and those who he imagines are Sir John’s friends. The Queen thinks it was very wrong of him, and not respectful towards herself, though he might have been right
au pied de la lettre
, in not allowing Munshi Abdul Karim to be at the station to present the letter the Queen Empress had entrusted him with, and she is sure that Sir John Tyler’s asking
for it was the excuse for the refusal. That protection has been rather a misfortune to the family, though it was v. kindly meant.
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The Queen’s reading of the situation was clearly from the letters and telegrams she had received from Karim after the eventful meeting with the Viceroy. Karim would have filled her in on all the gossip, the reason for his refused entry at the station and the kindness shown to him afterwards by the Viceroy and his wife. Co-ordinating Karim’s presentation to the Viceroy long-distance had quite exhausted the Queen and she retired to Osborne for the family Christmas, hoping that Karim had made his mark on the Viceroy and would soon be rewarded with land.

The Munshi was to return from India in February. The Queen hoped he would be able to complete all the paperwork and leave with the land registry documents. She telegraphed the Viceroy on 17 January saying she hoped the land grant would be settled before the Munshi sailed out on 21 February. As was her style, a further telegram followed within a few days on 26 January: ‘Trust deed will be executed before 18 February when he leaves Agra.’
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The Viceroy replied the same day: ‘Collector Agra has been instructed to put Munshi in possession and deed will shortly be executed.’

Lord Lansdowne also responded in full to the Queen’s explanation of why Sir Auckland Colvin disliked Tyler and why the Munshi was being wrongly judged by his association with Tyler: ‘It would no doubt have been better for Abdul Karim and his family if they had not been quite so ostentatiously “protected” by Sir John,’ wrote Lansdowne. ‘Your Majesty has summed up that gentleman’s strong and weak points in language which exactly meets the case.’

Though the business of the land grant for Karim had nearly been tied up, the Queen was still feeling uneasy about a few things. These had bothered her through the Christmas break and the start of the year at Osborne, and they were concerning the Viceroy’s letter about Tyler. She decided to put pen to paper once again and wrote to the Viceroy to tell him that she could not help feeling a good deal annoyed, as she had wished that her ‘good young Munshi’ would make the most favourable impression on the Viceroy, something he deserved for ‘his character, education and excellence’, but she was afraid that the Tyler episode may
have actually done him harm in the Viceroy’s eyes. She reiterated that the Munshi himself was deeply grateful to both Lord and Lady Lansdowne and that he was shy and nervous and had no one to befriend him at Agra, but Sir John Tyler, on the occasion of his presentation. He was, however, quite aware of ‘the want of circumspection on his poor friend’s part’.
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The Queen thanked the Viceroy for expediting the execution of the grant of land and said it should be settled before Karim’s departure from Agra. Another letter followed on 6 February. The Queen was calmer now and delighted that Karim had received his grant. She was also looking forward to his return even more than ever before. Soon she received the final telegram on the subject which had consumed her for over eight months: ‘Deed of transfer duly executed and handed to Abdul Karim.’
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The Queen replied immediately: ‘I am very much pleased!’
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Making every effort to satisfy the Queen, Lansdowne ensured that the deed was delivered to Karim before he left for England. The affair of the Munshi’s land had finally been settled. Karim would return to English shores a man of property. Nonetheless, a cautious Lord Cross wrote to Lord Lansdowne: ‘I only hope that his [the Munshi’s] head will not be turned when he gets back, but I feel quite sure that on this head you will have been careful.’
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H
is property papers sealed and signed, the Munshi returned to Windsor in early March and the delighted Queen resumed her Hindustani lessons immediately. However, Ahmed Husain was not having such a good time. His constant complaints against the Munshi had annoyed the Queen and she delicately suggested to him that he should return to India as he was not keeping in good health in Britain. Husain agreed, but wanted a few favours. He had learnt that the Munshi was allowed to carry arms in India and he demanded the same privilege. The Queen wearily requested Ponsonby to secure a permit for Husain to bear arms in India, as a special favour from her. Ponsonby wrote to Lord Lansdowne, explaining the situation:

Ahmed (commonly called in our Household as the Sergeant Major) cannot get on with Abdul, whom he is jealous of. One must go, so Ahmed, whose health is bad, goes. We want to let him down easily, and are trying to get him employment at Hyderabad. Hearing that Abdul can bear arms, Ahmed asks, and the Queen hopes he can get it.
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With the troublesome issue of Husain resolved, it was time once again to sail to Europe for the spring break. The Queen would go to Grasse this year, an attractive floral town in the foothills of the Alps, fifteen kilometres from the coast. She was returning to the Riviera after an absence of four years and took over the whole of the Grand Hotel for her entourage of forty people, which included her retinue of Indian servants.
The Standard
newspaper reported cynically about the preparations: ‘It will require dexterous management to find accommodation for the whole of the royal party in the Grand Hotel, although it is a very large building, as special arrangements have to be made for the pampered Indian domestics who Her Majesty insists on carrying about with her.’
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Seventy-six boxes and horses and carriages were sent on ahead to await the arrival of the Queen.
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The donkey and donkey cart went too, the Queen finding the latter convenient for travelling around the grounds. The crossing to Cherbourg was smooth and the Queen enjoyed her Hindustani lessons with Karim on board the
Victoria and Albert
.

The Indian attendants were now placed in the fourth carriage from the Queen on the Royal train, next only to the carriage carrying the Household, much to the jealousy of the other staff. On the way from Cherbourg to Grasse, the Queen’s journey was held up following an incident.
The Standard
newspaper carried the report from its Paris correspondent:

Some forty miles from Cherbourg the alarm bell was rung, and the train was of course, immediately pulled up, and the officers rushed to find out what had happened. It was discovered that one of the Hindoo servants in the suite had been amusing himself by handling the alarm signals, which is conspicuously putup in every carriage, and accidentally set it in operation. The authorities were greatly relieved at finding it was only a false alarm and the train sped on its way.

The reporter used ‘Hindoos’ as a generic name for Indians, as the attendants were, of course, all Muslims. No doubt Karim – in charge of all the Indian attendants – would have had a stern word with the errant servant who had stopped the Queen’s train.

The Queen had chosen Grasse on the recommendation of her daughter Princess Louise, who had told her about the beautiful gardens set out by Alice de Rothschild in the Villa Victoria near the hotel. The Queen’s day would begin after breakfast with the Hindustani lessons and the usual chat and gossip with Abdul Karim. This would be followed by her looking through her letters and boxes (which were brought to her every two weeks from London) and then a round of the gardens in the donkey chair.

While she was at Grasse the Queen had a visit from the errant Maharajah Duleep Singh, her previous ward. Some months ago,
he had written to her begging forgiveness for all the wrongful acts he had committed against the British government over the last few years. The Maharajah had written to Lord Cross: ‘I write to express my great respect for my past conduct towards Her Majesty, the Queen Empress of India. I humbly ask Her Majesty to pardon me, and I trust entirely to the clemency of the Queen. Should her Majesty grant me pardon, I promise obedience to her wishes for the future.’

Duleep Singh had been living in Paris ever since he was arrested at Aden and prevented from returning to India in 1886. He had tried to link up with the Russians and the Irish in his attempt to regain the throne of Punjab and the prized Koh-i-Noor, declaring that he would shed his last drop of blood in liberating his beloved subjects. ‘I know Sri Sutt Gooroo will help me. I shall free them from the English yoke,’ wrote Singh.
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It had all come to nought however. The Russians had lost interest and stopped funding him. His protector, Katkoff, had died and the Prince had suffered a massive stroke that had left him half paralysed. The Prince then asked his son, Prince Victor, to write to the Queen on his behalf:

It seems to me now that it is the will of God that I should suffer injustice at the hands of your people. I can find no one to curse Great Britain, and in spite of all her faults and her injustices, God blesses and makes her Great, and when I look at her, I feel that, in fighting against your country, I have been fighting against God. I would return to England if I were assured of your free pardon.
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The Queen pardoned him in August 1890, after Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister, agreed to it. Cross wrote to Duleep Singh telling him that provided he remained obedient to the Queen and agreed to regulate his movements with the instructions that would be issued to him, ‘Her Majesty, by the advice of her Ministers, has been graciously pleased to accord to you the pardon that you have sought’.
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The meeting in the Grand Hotel in Grasse, a few months after she had pardoned him, went off reasonably well, though it left the Queen rather drained emotionally. She recorded in her Journal:

He is nearly paralysed down his left side. He was in European clothes with nothing on his head and, when I gave him my hand he kissed
it and said ‘Pray excuse my kneeling’. His 2nd son Frederick, who has a very amiable countenance, came over from Nice with him. I made the poor broken down Maharajah take a seat and almost immediately afterwards he broke into a most violent fit of weeping. I took and stroked his hand, and he became calmer and said ‘Pray excuse me and forgive my grievous faults’ to which I replied ‘that is all forgiven and past’. He complained of his health and said he was a poor broken down man. After a few minutes talk about his sons and daughters, I wished him goodbye and went upstairs again, very thankful that this painful interview was well over. He was to have some refreshments and then drive back to Nice.
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