Alice, The Enigma - A Biography of Queen Victoria's Daughter Page 7

  Realising Bertie’s frustration and aware of his attraction towards a military life, Prince Albert sought to ease his situation by promising that, if he would apply himself more seriously to his studies and undertake a series of university courses, he could then begin training with the Grenadier Guards. Bertie agreed and soon he, too, was allocated his own residence, White Lodge in Richmond Park, as plans were made for a series of educational tours, which would take him across the Continent and as far afield as the United States of America.

  This gradual but definite disintegration of her close-knit family was incredibly painful for Alice, who clung desperately to the security of her childhood, and who found any separation from her siblings or parents deeply distressing. When Vicky and Bertie accompanied their parents on a formal visit to France, Alice was too overcome to greet them on their return to Osborne. While her brothers waited on the beach to greet the travellers, and her sisters came out of the house to welcome them home, ‘poor, dear Alice,’ remained indoors and, as the Queen recorded, ‘was quite upset at seeing us.”[55]

  Now, though, with Vicky’s wedding approaching, Alice had to face up to the inevitability of change. Realising that she had no alternative, she worked to overcome her emotions and to suppress the passionate nature. The effort required was enormous for a child who would burst into tears at the slightest provocation, and, though the Queen admired her determination to overcome her natural impulses, in later years her stoicism was occasionally mistaken for coldness. Perhaps so sensitive a soul could only deal with painful emotions by suppressing her feelings and distracting herself from them by acquiring ever-increasing commitments and duties; and in this, as in so many aspects of her character, she grew daily more like the father whom she adored.

  The New Year, 1858, began with a flurry of activity as the final preparations were underway for Vicky’s wedding. On 15th January, as guests began to arrive from all over Europe, the Royal Family left Windsor for Buckingham Palace.

  “We took a short walk with Vicky, who was dreadfully upset at this real break in her life; the real separation from childhood!” the Queen wrote that evening in her diary. “She slept for the last time in the same room as Alice…”[56]

  Fortunately for Alice, the next nine days were filled with festivities and the comings and goings of so many guests that there was little time for self-pity; and as the morning of the 25th January dawned to the sound of bells ringing out across the city, she was ready to play the role of bridesmaid with finesse and grace. Wreathed in flowers and dressed in pink satin decorated in Newport lace, she entered the Chapel Royal in St. James’ Palace, hand-in-hand with her younger sisters, Louise and Lenchen, to witness Vicky serenely pronouncing her vows and preparing to begin a new life in a foreign country.

  Days of celebrations followed, postponing the inevitable departure for just over a week but the delays could not continue forever, and on a dull February morning the time came for Alice and siblings to say their goodbyes. After spending a few brief moments with the Queen, Vicky and Fritz walked into the Audience Chamber where a broken-hearted Alice was waiting with the rest of the family. Everyone, including the newly-weds, wept, and Queen Victoria was so overcome by grief that she could not even bear to accompany the couple to the ship which would take them to Germany. Prince Albert and Bertie travelled with them to Trinity Pier and, within an hour, both Alice and Queen Victoria sat down to write to Vicky:

  “..it is cruel, very cruel – very trying for parents to give up their beloved children and see them go away from the happy peaceful home – where you used to be all around us!...You, though always our own dear child and always able to be at home in your parents’ house, are no longer one of the many, merry children who used to gather so fondly around us…Poor, dear Alice, whose sobs must have gone to your heart – is sitting near me, writing to you.”[57]

  When Alice eventually dried her tears, she would realise that in losing a sister her own position had significantly altered. Now, as the eldest daughter at home, she would gain new privileges and be expected to play a more prominent role in the public duties of the Royal Family. Vicky’s departure had certainly been traumatic, but it had also paved the way for Alice to step out of her shadow, to mature in her own way and to demonstrate her own innate talents more fully than ever before.

  Chapter 6 –

  A Very dear Companion

  Queen Victoria had no intention of allowing any detail of Vicky’s new life to escape her notice. Her daily letters to Berlin were filled with questions to which she expected prompt replies. If the responses did not come immediately or were insufficiently thorough, Vicky could be sure to receive a reprimand, demanding a fuller account of her everyday life, right down to descriptions of the clothes she was wearing and the furniture in her rooms. So excessive were the Queen’s expectations that eventually Prince Albert had to intervene, explaining that the poor girl could not possibly settle in her new homeland while her mother continued to require so much of her attention.

  By now, though, with Vicky far away in Prussia, the Queen was able to focus more clearly on her second daughter, and she was happily surprised to discover how quickly and easily Alice filled the void left by her elder sister.

  “She is a very dear companion,” she wrote fondly to Vicky. “She is really very good, so amiable, so gentle, so obliging and so humble.”[58]

  It was typical of Queen Victoria that as her admiration increased, so too did her perception of Alice’s physical appearance. Now, the child, who had once been nicknamed Fatima, was ‘graceful’ and ‘quite grown up; very pretty and with perfect manners in society, quite ladylike at cercléing.’ Most impressive of all, though, in the Queen’s opinion, was the beneficial influence which Alice had over her elder brother.

  Suffocating in the seclusion of White Lodge, the Prince of Wales continued to distress his parents by his failure to live up to their expectations – or, more especially, his inability to resemble his father. Repeatedly, throughout Bertie’s childhood and youth, Prince Albert was held up as the paradigm to which he should aspire but, at the same time, he was kept keenly aware that he could never hope to attain such a standard of perfection.

  Confused and disheartened, Bertie made little effort to accommodate his parents’ wishes, and despite his eagerness to pass the necessary military examinations to join the Guards Regiment, by the age of seventeen, he had no more aptitude for study than he had had when he was a small child. Rather than appreciating his natural talents for geniality and diplomacy or his flair for style and individuality, his parents simply could not understand why he had not inherited Prince Albert’s diligence. There were times when the despairing Queen blamed herself and her Hanoverian ancestry for his failings, once remarking that he was her caricature, but this only added to her exasperation that he would not, or could not, adapt to her and Albert’s attempts to mould him into an ideal prince.

  “Oh! Bertie, alas! That is too sad a subject to enter on,” she complained to Vicky. “…He vexes us much. There is not a particle of reflection or even attention to anything but dress! Not the slightest desire to learn…”[59]

  Fortunately, Bertie had a reliable supporter in Alice, who not only defended him and praised his qualities but was also the one person in the family to whom he would listen. According to the Queen, she had ‘much influence with him’, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that this influence was beneficial to Bertie himself, and helped to smooth the relationship between him and his parents.

  Clearly, in Vicky’s absence, Alice’s unique gifts had begun to shine, and, just as she had earned her mother’s admiration, it would not be long before she was making an equally favourable impression on the public.

  One Monday evening in early September 1858, the royal train, en route from Osborne to Balmoral, stopped in Leeds where the Queen had been invited to open the new Town Hall. The occasion was particularly memorable for Alice, since this was her first official engagement; and it was equally memorable for t
he people of Leeds, since it was the first time that a reigning monarch had officially visited the town[h].

  The train drew into the station at six-fifteen and, as Alice stepped onto the platform, she and her younger sister, Lenchen, were presented with bouquets by the Lord Mayor’s daughters before participating in a procession through the crowded streets. The Loiners[i] had turned out in force to present a rapturous welcome and no expense had been spared in the preparations for the visit. The thoroughfares were festooned with greenery, wrought into wreaths spelling out the names of Alice and her siblings, and even palm trees had been brought in to mark the occasion.

  “Nowhere have I seen the children’s names so often inscribed,” the Queen observed. “On one large arch were even ‘Beatrice and Leopold,’ which gave me much pleasure.”[60]

  It was, however, the warmth of the crowds which made the occasion so unforgettable. As Alice left the station in the royal carriage, she was overwhelmed by the numbers of people who had gathered from all over the county and beyond.

  “There arose such a cheer, as has seldom been heard before,” wrote a reporter from The Times. “It was a cheer, not only of the thousands to whom [the Queen] was visible, but the cheers of all along the line of route; it was caught up and passed from street to street, and into places far removed from where the Queen would pass – one long sustained outburst of loyal enthusiasm.”

  That evening, the Royal Family stayed at Woodley House, the home of the Lord Mayor, whose striking appearance made a great impression on the Queen, and an even greater impression on Alice’s governess:

  “Such a picturesque Mayor,” Queen Victoria wrote to Vicky that evening. “He looked like a Doge painted by Titian. Miss Hildyard is in ecstasies about him.”[61]

  The following morning, the enthusiastic applause resumed when Alice accompanied her parents to Woodhouse Moor, where thousands of Sunday School children had assembled to sing a selection of hymns. From there, the royal party progressed to the Mayor’s woollen mill – a visit of specific interest to Prince Albert, who had seen the machinery used in the mill at the Great Exhibition – before arriving at the Town Hall for the official opening. That evening, after knighting the Lord Mayor, the Queen and her family left the town and continued their journey to Balmoral.

  At fifteen-years-old, Alice’s grace and composure had won the affection of the crowds, and in the months that followed she would continue to rise in her mother’s estimation. Now, she was considered sufficiently mature to join her parents for dinner once or twice a week; and just as Prince Albert had tutored Vicky prior to her marriage, he now focussed more intently on Alice’s education. Each evening she was invited to spend an hour alone with him to discuss history, politics and literature to enable her to form opinions, which would, it was hoped, serve her well in her future role – whatever and wherever that might be.

  For Alice these evenings were sheer delight so it was hardly surprising that Prince Albert should remark that she was always ‘most attentive’. Unfortunately, however, due to his many responsibilities, he was often late for her lesson and sometimes failed to arrive at all. While Alice accepted the situation with good grace, her disappointment in his absence was a mild foreshadowing of the events which would soon unfold to take him from her forever.

  For now, though, unaware of the impending tragedy, Alice was relishing the swansong of her childhood. These were the halcyon days, which she would look back on for the rest of her life – a time when she was able to form her own ideas, develop her personality and blossom into maturity, while still unburdened by the responsibilities of adulthood.

  In the spring of 1859 as she approached her sixteenth birthday, plans were underway for Alice’s confirmation in the Church of England. Apart from its religious significance, the sacrament was a major stepping-stone in the life of a princess, marking the transition from childhood to early adulthood. Once a young lady had been confirmed she was considered old enough to attend balls and, quite often, preparations began for marriage.

  Though acutely aware of the sacrament’s practical aspects, the Queen and Prince Albert were more concerned with its spiritual importance. Prayer and faith were central to their household – on being informed that her uncle had died and she was now Queen, the eighteen-year-old Victoria’s immediate response had been, ‘I ask your prayers on my behalf,’; and later she commented, ‘It is hard that I cannot always hear my children say their prayers’. No matter where the family was staying, Sunday services were meticulously observed, and it had been perfectly natural for Prince Albert to mark the opening of Osborne House with a hymn and a prayer. A clergyman from the Isle of Wight recalled an occasion when he was visiting an invalid and noticed a woman sitting by the sickbed reading quietly from the Bible. Only when the woman rose to leave, did he recognise Queen Victoria.

  Neither the Queen nor the Prince had, however, any interest in the mere show of religion. Concerned more with the spirit than the letter of the law, Queen Victoria had little time for black-clad bishops and was most put out by the long, dreary sermon muttered inaudibly by the Archbishop at Vicky’s confirmation. She was equally dismissive of excessive piety and would tell her children and grandchildren that it made little difference whether they said their prayers kneeling down or lying in bed.

  “I am quite clear,” she had written of Vicky, “that she should be taught to have great reverence for God and for religion, but that she should have the feeling of devotion and love which our Heavenly Father encourages His earthly children to have for Him, and not one of fear and trembling. ; and that thoughts of death and afterlife should not be represented in an alarming or forbidding view…and not think that she can only pray on her knees, or that those who do not kneel are less fervent and devout in their prayers.”[62]

  Unimpressed by sham-holiness or the trappings of religion, she was distressed to realise that her presence at Whippingham Church on the Isle of Wight was distracting the congregation from the service, and consequently arranged for a private Prayer Room to be set up in Osborne House, furnished with an unostentatious pulpit and altar.

  This devotion to Christianity did not, however, provoke bigotry or self-righteousness, and both the Queen and Prince Consort were anxious to promote the rights of people of different denominations and faiths. During their stays at Balmoral, they were happy to attend Presbyterian services; during a visit to Ireland they were conducted around the schools by the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin; and, in later life, Queen Victoria would acknowledge the festivals of her Indian servants, and write frequently to her generals and ambassadors, reminding them to respect the customs and rites of native peoples across the Empire.

  ‘One must be tolerant,’ she wrote, and, true to her word, would raise no objections when three of her granddaughters chose to convert to Orthodoxy.

  Prince Albert was equally broad-minded in respect of other denominations. In spite of his personal distaste for ‘Popish’ ceremonies, he and the Queen were horrified when, in 1850, the Pope’s re-establishment of a Roman Catholic hierarchy in England led to an upsurge of anti-Catholic feeling.

  “Sincerely Protestant as I am,” the Queen wrote to her aunt, “…and indignant as I am at those who call themselves Protestants, while they in fact are quite the contrary, I much regret the unchristian and intolerant spirit exhibited by many people at public meetings. I cannot bear to hear the violent abuse of the Catholic religion, which is so painful and cruel towards many good and innocent Roman Catholics.”[63]

  When the government attempted to pass the Ecclesiastical Titles Bill, prohibiting the re-establishment of Catholic dioceses, Prince Albert went out of his way to calm the situation and succeeded in having the Act postponed. When it did come into force the following year, it was never implemented, thanks largely to the Prince’s influence.

  Within the Church of England, too, the Queen and Prince Albert encouraged tolerance, rejecting the paternalistic approach of some Evangelicals who wished to impose puritanical laws such
as the prohibition of gambling and the sale of alcohol. While supporting what they saw as Christian reforms such as the abolition of slavery and the reduction of working hours for children, they refused to countenance any measures which would impinge on individual freedom of choice.

  The Queen was, nonetheless, firmly committed to a simple faith and pressed her children to accept God’s will with absolute trust. In the era of Darwin’s Origin of the Species, when science appeared to be contradicting fundamental beliefs, she believed it was better not to baffle the mind with too many questions and she would later urge one of Alice’s daughters not to delve too deeply into questions which might undermine her faith.

  In this, Prince Albert differed from the Queen, for, notwithstanding his poetic temperament, he was also a rationalist whose scientific studies reinforced his spiritual beliefs. He encouraged his sons and daughters to consider opposing arguments in order to reach their own conclusions; and he saw the hand of God at work in each new technological advance or scientific discovery. On a practical level, he recognised, too, the importance of putting his faith into action, as his numerous philanthropic schemes and his determination to use his gifts for the good of others were inspired primarily by his religious beliefs.

  It was of the utmost importance to the Queen and the Prince Consort to ensure that their children were well prepared for confirmation – the sacrament in which they would commit themselves to the faith in which they had been baptised. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, high-ranking clerics tutored and tested them to ascertain that they fully understood the importance of the rite; and they were expected to spend the eve of the service in quiet contemplation. The night before Bertie was confirmed, for example, his brother, Affie, was kept away from him so that ‘so that the right atmosphere shall not be disturbed.’