Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria

by Julia P. Gelardi

  This period of uncertainty provided Maud with plenty to think about. Though personally unambitious, the prospect of becoming Queen of Norway was certainly not something to scoff at. But if she and Charles had no other choice but to accept the offer of the Norwegian throne, how would this new life affect Maud’s prolonged visits to England? The thought that these might have to be drastically curtailed could hardly sit well with Maud. By this time, her fixation for England was no secret. One English magazine published an article on her in 1903, noting, “Princess Charles loves her Norfolk home, which is unpretentious, but is thoroughly comfortable.” It went on to describe how life at Maud’s Copenhagen home, where her privacy was limited, had the effect of jarring her sensibilities. But Maud’s complaining of such awkward living arrangements to her mother-in-law, “the stalwart Crown Princess of Denmark,” was “useless,” because she was immune from understanding “such feelings. Prince Charles was her favourite son, and his marriage with his cousin failed to please his mother, but…she bowed to the inevitable.” Though Maud’s mother-in-law was “just and kind” toward her, the crown princess “could not understand” and therefore had “no sympathy with her [Maud’s] love of England and her feelings on that point.”3

  Despite her father’s strenuous efforts to get Charles to commit himself to Norway, Maud was still reluctant for her husband to accept the offer of a crown. According to Germany’s chancellor, Prince Bernhard von Bülow, Maud’s response to the idea of becoming Queen of Norway remained tepid. At one point she was so hesitant at the thought of moving to Norway that she supposedly told her father, King Edward, she would much rather live in England or Ireland in the smallest farm than go off to Christiania. The king did not sympathize with his favorite daughter. Instead, he dismissed Maud’s musings. “Princesses have duties and not hobbies,” was Edward VII’s tart reminder.37

  In August, Edward VII tried again to prod his reluctant son-in-law by saying:

  The moment has now come for you to act or lose the Crown of Norway. On good authority I am informed your sister in Sweden [Ingeborg, Crown Princess of Sweden] is intriguing against you. I urge you to go at once to Norway, with or without the consent of the Danish Government, and help in negotiations between the two countries. Maud and Baby would do well to follow a little later. The Queen is of the same opinion.38

  The months of uncertainty as to her future and that of her immediate family worried Princess Maud. Writing from Copenhagen in September 1905, she explained the predicament she and Charles were in:

  Here we have to wait and see what is happening and if they really want us in Norway—the uncertainty [of] all the waiting has been an enormous strain all summer, but we hear that now, finally, the whole matter might be decided in October.…The whole thing seems very strange to me, and everything will naturally be different from what we are used to. My only hope is that they will like us, for that makes everything so much easier.39

  That same month, a settlement was reached whereby the union between the two countries was formally dissolved and the Swedish parliament acknowledged the separation of the two countries. This was followed by King Oscar II of Sweden’s long-awaited renouncement of the Norwegian throne and his recognition of an independent Norway. It had been an acrimonious but non-violent revolution by the Norwegians against the dominant partner of the union.

  A canny Prince Charles, however, had one request before accepting the offer of the crown. Well aware how strong republican feelings were among certain segments of the population in Norway, Charles insisted that a plebiscite be held. The results were more than satisfying for Charles and his fellow monarchists. Of those eligible, 75.3 percent voted. The final result was just over 69,000 votes for a republic, while nearly 260,000 voted for a monarchy. It was a resounding victory for the monarchists. Officially accepting the blessing of the Norwegian people, Charles and Maud were now King and Queen of Norway.

  The plebiscite was enough to send one particular die-hard royal into paroxysms of incredulity. The idea that a monarch was elected to ascend the throne of Norway did not sit well with Princess Augusta, Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, who was a granddaughter of King George III. Writing to her niece, Princess May, in 1906, Augusta said she thought it simply “too horrible for an English Princess to sit upon a Revolutionary Throne!” In another letter, Augusta’s thoughts turned to the new Norwegian queen: “So Maud is sitting on her very unsafe throne—to say the least of it.” As for Charles, “he [is] making speeches, poor fellow, thanking the revolutionary Norwegians for having elected him! No really, it is all too odd!” Augusta also threw in her opinions on Maud’s mother and son, telling May, “ ‘Motherdear’ will not like it either, besides they have but that one peaky Boy. “40

  Writing from Copenhagen while on a visit to her native Denmark, the Empress Marie of Russia also told her son that a conclusion was at hand on the simmering question of Norway:

  The Norwegian question seems to be settled definitely, and on Monday next a deputation is expected here to offer the throne of Norway to Charles. This time of indecision has also been very painful and annoying for Charles and Maud, but I think, since the decision has been taken, they are quite pleased though the parting is sure to be very sad.41

  Within days of this letter being written, Prince Charles of Denmark accepted the offer of the crown. Upon receiving news that the Storting— Norway’s Parliament—had elected him as king, Charles sent off a reply by telegram: “My wife and I call down on the Norwegian people God’s richest blessing, and will consecrate our future life to its glory and prosperity.”42

  At a ceremony in the throne room of Copenhagen’s Amalienborg Palace, a delegation from the Storting watched as Prince Charles of Denmark officially accepted the invitation to become their king. Standing beneath the opulent gold and red canopy above the throne, Maud, dressed simply in white, stood with her hands folded as she and Charles assumed the throne of Norway.

  For King Edward VII, the news that all ended as he hoped was more than satisfying. When the Norwegian government sent a telegram congratulating him on Maud’s new position, the king’s reply, though simply stated, resonated with pride:

  I thank you for your kind telegram. I am enchanted to learn that my dear daughter will be the Queen of your magnificent and interesting country. Edward R. & I.43

  In order to identify himself with his Norwegian subjects, Charles embraced as his motto “Alt for Norge! (All for Norway)” and took the name of Haakon VII, in deference to the country’s previous kings. Prince Alexander accordingly became Prince Olav. But Maud refused to change her name to something Norwegian-sounding. True to her English roots, Maud felt that since her name had been good enough for a British princess, then surely it was good enough for a Queen of Norway.

  For generations, a kind of religious extravaganza had long permeated Russia’s Orthodox Church, adding an exotic dimension to the faith that was part and parcel of Russian life. Like so many aspects of life in Russia, Orthodoxy could lay claim to more than its fair share of the mysterious, the contradictory, and the inexplicable. And nowhere did this phenomenon appear more clearly than in the person of Rasputin. One historian maintains that “the rise of Gregory Rasputin would have been impossible in any country other than Russia.”44

  In addition to a hierarchical church composed of priests and bishops, there existed a whole other realm of “holy men” who attracted large and loyal follow-ings. Among these holy men were those known as the staretz, who wandered the countryside, often on religious pilgrimages. Adding to their aura of holiness was the fact the staretz voluntarily renounced earthly goods and could impress others with their recitation of the Holy Scriptures. They provided additional spiritual ministrations to a people ever thirsty for ways to get closer to God. A mixture of “superstition and awe, reverence and respect, by almost all levels in Russian society” was invested in the staretz.45 Thus, when Alexandra Feodorovna found herself drawn to one supposed staretz called Gregory Rasputin, there was nothi
ng particularly unusual about her belief in a holy man from Siberia. Even as the tsarina’s reliance on Rasputin descended into an all-consuming obsession, there was still an element of believability in her stance, for the staretz figured prominently in Russia’s soul. One of Russia’s greatest writers, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, captured this most vividly in a passage in The Brothers Karamazov, which has rightly been brought up by those writing about Tsarina Alexandra and Rasputin: “The staretz is he who takes your soul and will and makes them his. When you select your staretz you surrender your will, you give it him in utter submission, in full renunciation.”4 The tragedy of course where Alexandra and Russia were concerned was that Rasputin would turn out to be not a genuinely saintly man but a fraud, whose debauchery far exceeded his good actions. Instead of renouncing things of this world, including family and possessions, Rasputin—who was married, with three children—continued to maintain his home in Siberia. And unlike a genuine staretz, Rasputin was never able to let go of sensual pleasures where women were concerned. This so-called staretz, notorious for his past exploits involving the opposite sex, retained the moniker “Rasputin,” meaning “Dissolute.”

  Rasputin’s unsavory past was not unknown to the tsar and tsarina, but it did not prevent them from accepting Rasputin for what he purportedly claimed to be—a repentant sinner and, more important, a healer. Nicholas II’s sister, Olga, maintained that “to Nicky and Alix he remained what he was—a peasant with a profound faith in God and gift of healing.”47 Even leading churchmen of St. Petersburg such as John of Kronstadt and Archimandrite Theophanes were taken in by Rasputin’s seemingly penitent and religious demeanor.

  It is difficult to fathom how so many individuals could find themselves so drawn to Rasputin. But some of those who encountered him attested to the fact that the mysterious “holy man” from Siberia had an undeniable ability to attract people through the hypnotic quality of his eyes. A friend of the tsarina’s remembered being struck by “those shining steel-like eyes which seemed to read one’s inmost thoughts.”48

  Maurice Paléologue, then French ambassador to Russia and no fan of Rasputin, had a similar story. Like many who had personally taken stock of Rasputin, Paléologue found the staretz possessed something that may have drawn the tsarina and others to him. This was the fact that when confronting Rasputin in person, one could not help but be mesmerized by his face. And according to Paléologue, “the whole expression of the face was concentrated in the eyes—light-blue eyes with a curious sparkle, depth, and fascination. His gaze was at once penetrating and caressing, naive and cunning, direct and yet remote.”49

  Yet to ascribe Tsarina Alexandra’s fascination with Rasputin merely to his mesmerizing eyes is to miss the point completely. What truly drove Alexandra to place so much faith in this odd creature was Rasputin’s ability to help keep her son alive. And once the tsarina became convinced of Rasputin’s power to act as a conduit to God on behalf of Alexei, there was nothing anyone could tell her that would convince her otherwise.

  Eleven

  BAPTISM OF FIRE

  MAY, THE PRINCESS OF WALES, THOUGHT ENA S DEPARTURE FROM England for Spain was tinged with sadness. It was “a trying moment for the poor child,” wrote May to her aunt Augusta Strelitz. “And I felt so sorry for Aunt Beatrice—I do hope Ena will get on well in Spain, I think she is a sensible girl & may do good there, anyhow she is full of good intentions—but I don’t know whether she realises what a difficult future lies before her.” Indeed, her aunt Augusta concurred. Writing back about Ena’s future, Augusta prophetically noted that “I am sure Ena has no idea of her real future, now is all flowers and cheers! how long will this last in such a Country as Spain?”1

  Fully aware that there was no turning back, Ena left home with a heavy heart. Finally abandoning England—the land where she was raised and which she so loved—for a new, unchartered life in unfamiliar Spain, the downcast princess felt overwhelmed. As she boarded the train for Dover, accompanied by her brothers, Leopold and Maurice, and her mother, Ena was choked with emotion. When she landed in Calais, a friend remarked how sad she looked. Ena bravely replied: “It is nothing—I cannot help feeling moved when I think that I am leaving the country where I have spent so many happy days to go toward the unknown.”2 And to the Lord Mayor of London, Ena sent a reply to his message of congratulations by saying, “I shall always preserve in my heart love and affection for the country of my birth.”3

  Princess Victoria Eugenie’s arrival at Madrid was met with extreme exuberance by the populace. Lady de Bunsen, wife of the British ambassador there, noted the enthusiasm: “big bunches of flowers were thrown with such violence, that neither Queen Cristina, Princess Beatrice nor Princess Ena, who was sitting with her back to the horses, could even look up” for fear of being hurt by the avalanche of flowers.4

  A sense of feverish excitement gripped Spain’s capital on 31 May 1906, a day gloriously bathed in sunlight. Alfonso drove to the Pardo Palace where Ena was staying. From there, they proceeded to the Ministry of Marine, where Ena was dressed in her magnificent bridal gown, which by tradition was donated by the groom. It was a sumptuous confection, fit for a queen. The product of forty top seamstresses, who labored for fifty-six days, it was “one of the most elaborate and exquisitely embroidered gowns ever seen at the Spanish Court.” Alfonso spared no expense in seeing that Ena was clothed in splendor. Rumor had it that the king paid no less than $20,000 ($400,000 in today’s money) for the all-white satin gown, cut in Louis XVI style. “It was bordered with dull silver, slightly burnished and shaded at intervals and trimmed with exquisite rose-point lace, which was festooned over a background of cloth of silver. The lace flounce was eighteen inches in width and the whole gown was relieved with loops of orange blossoms.”5 The lace-bordered train in silver cloth was no less splendid. Falling from the shoulders, it measured 4.5 yards and was decorated with fleurs-de-lis, the emblem of the House of Bourbon.

  Alfonso and Ena’s marriage was significant in that it was the first time in nearly four hundred years that a Spanish monarch married a member of the English royal family. As the young couple seemed very much in love, many hoped this new Anglo-Spanish alliance would fare better than that of Philip II of Spain and England’s Mary I.

  Once inside the Church of San Jeronimo, King Alfonso started to show signs of nervousness. He was well aware of the possibility that violence could mar his wedding day. With a sigh of relief, he greeted the arrival of Ena’s brothers at the cathedral signalling the beginning of the bridal procession. At the sight of the bride, guests gasped in awe.

  William Miller Collier, the American minister to Madrid, who had a good view of the Spanish couple in the cathedral, thought the bride “a vision of loveliness and a perfect beauty.” Collier wrote admiringly: “To say that the bride was radiantly, superbly beautiful is not flattery. One could not say less and speak the truth.”

  After the Archbishop of Toledo declared the couple married, a nuptial Mass followed. Then came the signing of the register. Once outside, Ena and Alfonso boarded the state carriage, pulled by eight plumed horses, which drove them through the crowded streets toward the Royal Palace. There was no doubt the Spaniards had taken the couple to heart. Everywhere were shouts of “Viva el Rey!” and “Viva la Reina!” Happy to be Alfonso’s wife at last, a resplendent Ena smiled and waved to the enthusiastic Spaniards, who cheered the lovely young bride. But within minutes, Victoria Eugenie’s subjects would see if their queen was made of sterner stuff than the delicate image she projected.

  Nearly everything had appeared to go off as planned. The excited throng packed along the wedding route, in the region of 300,000 people, was loudly cheering but well behaved. As the procession arrived at the Calle Mayor, some two hundred yards from the Royal Palace, the king and queen’s coach stopped. Curious about the delay, Ena asked Alfonso what was wrong. He told her not to worry, “in five minutes we shall be home.”7 At that moment, a huge floral bouquet was thrown from a nearby balcony, falling ju
st to the right of their carriage. In an instant, a bright red and orange flash blinded everyone in its path. And then, just as suddenly, a loud explosion sent hundreds scurrying for cover. Hidden amongst the flowers was a powerful bomb, which exploded with tremendous ferocity. In that split second, thirty-seven people were killed and over a hundred injured, many seriously. So potent was the bomb that “all that was found of one of the footmen on the royal carriage was his boots.”8

  Startled by the powerful explosion, Ena instinctively closed her eyes as she lurched forward. Unable to see Alfonso in the thick black smoke enveloping the carriage, Ena thought her husband had been killed by the blast. But miraculously, Alfonso escaped, and so did she. Their carriage was so damaged it could not move farther. Several of the eight white horses pulling it were killed. An eyewitness recorded that he saw one horse “on the ground with its legs off and stomach ripped open. His great plumes lying in a mass of blood.”9 Ena had come very close to death.

  As luck would have it, at the moment of the explosion, Alfonso had drawn Ena’s attention to the Church of Santa Maria, visible from his side of the carriage. Because she turned toward her husband, the queen escaped serious injury. But the effects of the explosion around them were horrifying. When the black, acrid smoke cleared, Alfonso and Ena were shocked to see that her magnificent bridal gown was soaked in blood. One of the guards riding beside the queen had been decapitated and his blood had spilled into the carriage. The magnificent silver and white confection was tainted with shades of crimson.