Queen Victoria Eugenie’s early years in Spain were nothing short of turbulent. Her introduction into the Spanish court proved daunting. Not much energy was spent initiating the perplexed queen into the intricacies of life in Madrid. Everything and everyone was foreign to her. Queen Maria Cristina may have been a more well-meaning mother-in-law to Ena than the Dowager Empress Marie was to Alix, but Maria Cristina possessed a frigid personality that was hard to penetrate. Her face, though far from frightening, rarely looked relaxed. The Queen Mother perennially swathed herself in dark, somber colors. This was a far cry from her Russian counterpart, Marie Feodorovna, who charmed everyone with her wit and effervescence, even into her widowhood. In her desire to extend her mourning for her dead husband, Queen Maria Cristina infused court life in Spain with a strong sense of the morose, long after her husband, King Alfonso XII, had died.
With time, Maria Cristina ceded some ground to her daughter-in-law, but ever so slowly. Ena also endured the added difficulty of having the dowager queen living in close proximity. At least where Alix was concerned, Empress Marie lived on her own in separate establishments. But for Ena, it was a different matter. The former Queen Regent became something of an appendage to the ever patient Ena. Whenever Ena dined, for instance, in the early years of her marriage, Maria Cristina presided over the meals, often taking charge completely, leaving Ena with very little to say.
Maintaining dominance at court proved easy for King Alfonso’s mother. Not only was Ena the newcomer, she also battled one of the most difficult challenges any new bride or queen could face in a foreign land: her inability to understand and speak the local tongue. Incredibly, no one taught Queen Ena the language. Ena had tried to teach herself while she was being courted by King Alfonso, but once in Spain, she was on her own. Left to her own devices, Ena valiantly struggled to pick up as much Spanish as she could. Years later she recalled her difficulties: “You have no idea of the terrible loneliness in the soul of not understanding a language…It is as if one is by oneself in a country! And so I took upon the work of learning [the language]. Those whom [I] could understand best were the King and the Infanta Maria Teresa [his sister], because they spoke pure Castil-ian. ...” It took Ena only six months to understand Spanish and a year and a half to tackle a conversation. Her success came from her conversations with the palace help. One of the first phrases she uttered was to a coachman, telling him to “find me a place where the wind does not blow.” “That seemed to take such tremendous effort,” recalled Ena; that even in her old age she noted proudly, “I have not forgotten my first phrase!”
The queen’s ability quickly earned her respect from one of Alfonso’s relatives, the Infanta Eulalia, who admitted that “besides beauty, Ena possessed brains.” Eulalia, one of the most colorful members of the Bourbon family, quickly came to admire Ena. “Brought up at the English Court,” wrote the infanta years later, “she was serious and reserved in public, in spite of her friendly manner, but in private life she was a delightful woman of the world, gifted with great charm and artistic tastes, sympathetic to a degree, and affectionate to all around her.”7 Not everyone, however, was as gracious. Among those who harbored suspicions and jealousies toward the queen were the ladies surrounding Maria Cristina, whose entourage proved to be relics of a bygone age.
Yet of all the bewildering array of personalities and customs, none was more exasperating and confusing to Ena than Alfonso XIII. The blushing bride was caught completely unawares when it came to her husband’s personality. Far from being her champion, the more Ena came to know Alfonso, the more Spain’s king appeared to be an enigma—a complex individual whose temperament ran hot and cold. Nor could she grasp the reasons behind this behavior. Ena’s confusion over her husband’s sudden desire to get away from her and their little boys in 1908, just two years into their marriage, threw her off. Unsophisticated and lost, the love-struck queen responded in the only manner she knew—taking on the tone of supplicant. Her pleas, interspersed with declarations of passion for Alfonso, nevertheless betrayed her bewilderment.
Despite their reconciliation, the marriage fell into deep trouble. Sadly, King Alfonso could never reconcile himself to the fact that the dreaded hemophilia had entered his family via Ena. The proud and volatile Alfonso found it hard to forgive his wife for something over which she had no control. Not only did he blame Ena for the curse that beset their family; Alfonso looked at her with increasing disdain. Henri Valloton, a Swiss lawyer who was a confidant of both, was certain who was at fault for the collapse of the marriage: “Alfonso XIII threw the blame at his wife for the illness.…He could not resign himself [to the fact that] his heir could have contracted an ailment which her family had, and not his. It was unjust, he himself recognized it, but he could not think in any other manner.”8
During Ena’s early years in Spain, many found her to be the very embodiment of “la reina hermosa (the beautiful queen).” Members of the press vied in their rapturous descriptions of the blond-haired, blue-eyed Victoria Eugenie, who looked every inch a queen. Much to Ena’s credit, she did not let such compliments go to her head. On the contrary, a mischievous streak occasionally surfaced. She once asked Alfonso if he had read the newspaper she was holding. When he answered, “No, is it anything of importance?” Ena quipped back,“Certainly. I demand the instant execution of editor; he has omitted to hint that I am the most beautiful woman in the world!”9
Considering how effusive the Spanish were in the early years, Ena’s remark was not without basis. In Seville, for instance, the young Queen Ena was met with shouts of “Viva!” Flattering phrases poured forth—“What colouring!” Per dios, what colouring!” “Santa Maria, gold is poor beside her hair!” Trying to keep her composure, Ena accepted these compliments. Only when someone loudly proclaimed, “you are not only Queen of Spain; you are Queen of all beautiful women,” did she burst out laughing.10
As Ena slowly gained confidence, she began introducing her own touches into a court that had long stagnated under the perpetual mourning of the widowed Maria Cristina. These touches were invariably tinged with a predilection for things fresh and sparkling and, of course, for things British. Her introduction of a wedding cake was but one of several customs Victoria Eugenie brought with her to Spain. The queen was proud of her British heritage and did not hide it. Seven months after becoming queen, she wrote to thank the ladies of Monmouthshire for the gift of a screen. “The screen,” noted a proud Ena, “stands in my drawing-room & is the admiration of everyone. Of course,” she added, “I am very proud to be able to say that the work was done by English ladies & it makes a great impression.”11
Being queen of Spain nevertheless proved daunting. The difficulties of adjusting to life in a foreign court, coupled with the realization that she and Alfonso were not completely compatible, disquieted Ena. In a letter to the future Queen Mary, Ena highlighted the contrast between her simple life in England and her more rigid existence in Spain:
We now are living in Madrid for some weeks, in this grand palace in which I feel like a guest of honour, although little by little I struggle to make a place for myself. I cannot leave my rooms without causing a real commotion and the racket of the famous guards, stationed in the passageways and steps of the monumental stairs. When I go close [to the guards] it makes them stand to attention, hit the marble floor with their halberds and shout: Long live the Queen!
I long [for] the far off days of Osborne where I was simply a young woman full of life who wanted to ride and have fun and also I wish to return to the months when Alfonso and I were in the palace of La Granja, a dreamy place where I hope to meet up with you not too far off one day.
In Madrid I see much less of my beloved husband, naturally, but the days they make for me are eternal. I pass the afternoons like the old ladies of [the Isle of]Wight embroidering or dedicated to my favourite pastime which is reading, something which Alfonso does not share and which surprisingly, I am grateful for, because when he is with me there is never a bo
ok which we can both find appealing between ourselves. I miss the solitary walks with him, when we would speak of simple things that…for others would be trivial. Our lengthy moments of intimacy, here, are spent in the afternoon when alone together, we take tea.
Here the atmosphere amounts to an inhospitable one.12
One of the Spanish court’s most daunting and curious rituals occurred during Ena’s first year in Spain. As the consort of His Most Catholic Majesty, the King of Spain, Queen Victoria Eugenie was expected to participate fully in the Spanish court’s most important ceremonies, which often meant religious observances. Probably the most difficult was one that took place on Holy Thursday: the Lavatorio or washing of the feet. A Spanish contemporary of Ena’s captured its importance at the time: “The ceremony is profoundly significant, unbelievably poignant: it is Spain. In no other country could it take on such a living value and meaning.”13
The Lavatorio was one of the highlights of the Easter ceremonies during Holy Week. King Alfonso and Queen Victoria Eugenie had to re-enact Christ’s washing of the disciples’ feet at the Last Supper; in so doing, the couple relived this humble act of service. Participation in the ceremony was meant to “personify the spirit of Christ.” In a ritual that had not deviated from its original version dating to the thirteenth century, the king and queen donned aprons and knelt before twelve elderly men and twelve elderly women, to wash, then kiss their feet. The task was always more difficult for Ena: “She takes longer because before each one she must kneel and rise again, her long dress making the King’s more expeditious method impossible.”14
“It must have been something of an ordeal, specially for the Queen, to go through that process,” recalled the Marqués de Villavieja, who witnessed Ena doing her part the year after she married. The marqués wrote admiringly of Ena’s first Lavatorio:
I shall never forget the first time she had to do it. She was only nineteen years old then, and unaccustomed as she was to Spanish life and the many foreign habits at Court, it must have been difficult to her English mind to carry out this ceremony in all its detail. But she did it with much sweetness and grace, and one felt how deeply desirous she was of doing her duty.15
Of all the challenges Ena faced in Spain, the most painful was Alfonso’s infidelities. In order to compensate for his frustration with Ena, and in keeping with his own restless nature, Alfonso had no compunction in betraying his marital vows with numerous women. But as unhappy as her marriage was turning out to be, Ena continued to give birth to a succession of children: Beatriz (b. 1909), Maria Cristina (b. 1911), and Juan (b. 1913).
With the possible exception of the Russian imperial family, the homes where Ena raised her children were unsurpassed in opulence. Madrid’s Royal Palace was but one of several superb homes at the disposal of Ena and the Bourbons. Inside the palace, visitors marveled at the beautifully executed tapestries lining the walls. Fine-cut crystal chandeliers like huge snowflakes hung from the ceilings; Roman busts stared back menacingly. If Ena ever wanted to brush up on Spain’s past, she had only to visit the Royal Library. Housed in two dozen rooms, lined with mahogany bookcases, the collection included thousands of rare manuscripts, maps, drawings, and books. The Gala Dining Room was another wonder: gold, marble, more than a dozen large crystal chandeliers, giant Sèvres porcelain and bronze jars, along with beautiful paintings depicting The Surrender of Granada, Christopher Columbus Before Ferdinand and Isabella (“the Catholic Kings”), and representations of what was once Spain’s vast empire—Peru, the Philippines, Mexico, and Chile. The massive room contained an enormous table that could seat up to 145 guests for dinner.
In her other homes—the palaces of Miramar, La Granja, Aranjuez, El Pardo, and La Magdalena—Ena gained more privacy and the rigid court etiquette was less pervasive. But even in some of these, she could not completely escape the formality of the Spanish court. Whether through lack of opportunity or inclination, Ena’s private rooms were not dotted with furnishings from London. Nor were her apartments swathed in yards of chintz, as could be found in Athens, Tsarskoe Selo, or Christiania. Ena’s bedroom in her Madrid palace, for instance, would have befitted Marie Antoinette at Versailles. Surmounting the gold and white bed with its ornate headboard was an ostentatious canopy in gold swathed in sumptuous silk.
When it came to manifestations of her own Christian faith, evidence was to be found in Ena’s most private quarters—her bedroom. Ena’s bedroom at the Aranjuez Palace had a strongly religious tone. Hanging above the royal headboard was a huge, life-like painting of Christ crucified, while a large crucifix stood next to the sleigh bed.
For all her attempts to immerse herself in Spanish ways, there was always to be an element of suspicion and a lack of acceptance among Ena’s subjects. There were, for one, too few instances of spontaneity from Ena. As the years passed, the novelty of having a lovely young English princess descend upon them like some goddess from the North—complete with fair hair, a peaches and cream complexion, and a pedigree that linked her directly to Queen Victoria— began to wane with some segments of the people. For a populace long accustomed to the art of frenzied melodrama in everyday life, Ena was turning out to be too glacial, and thus too English for their tastes.
These critics had been given ammunition in the very early days when Queen Ena made her first appearance at a bullfight in celebration of her wedding. Fresh-faced, young, and poised, the queen looked exquisite in her white mantilla, seated in the royal box with King Alfonso and Queen Maria Cristina. In front of thirteen thousand people, Ena had to dig deep within herself to show her subjects that she was different from most of her nation, who were known to be revolted by the gory spectacle of Spain’s quintessential sport. Ena, who loved animals, tried to mask her disgust, but this only served to disappoint some subjects, particularly as her first bullfight turned out to be relatively unexciting. In order not to offend the queen’s sensibilities and those of the foreign guests, the bulls were reputedly drugged, and lost their violent edge. Victoria Eugenie was never to overcome her intense dislike of bullfighting. She took up her brother’s suggestion by having special shaded field glasses made. The queen would raise the glasses to her eyes at critical moments; the crowds, in turn, believed she was taking a closer look when in fact she was shielding her eyes.
Ena was also not immune from criticism from the arch enemies of the Bourbons: the Carlists. And their leader, Don Jaime de Bourbon, was not shy in airing in public his views of the queen. In August 1909, at the time of the insurrection in Barcelona, the Carlist pretender to the throne issued a dramatic proclamation to his followers in which he repudiated any active role as leader of the Carlist cause, so fraught with violence in the past. That may have come as a relief to Alfonso XIII. But Don Jaime also made it known that he believed King Alfonso’s popularity was on the decline. As for the queen, Don Jaime noted bluntly that she “is not liked.” The question for Ena, of course, was how much of Don Jaime’s pronouncement was false, stemming as it did from the enemy camp, and how much was true?
In May 1910, Edward VII died. Maud and King Haakon made haste for London in order to be present at the funeral and to comfort the grieving Queen Alexandra. Maud’s father had always been known for his gregariousness and his joy of living. When he suddenly was taken ill at the age of sixty-eight and died, there was a genuine sense of dismay.
From Russia, Tsarina Alexandra sent her cousin, George V, Edward VII’s successor, a touching letter of sympathy:
Only a few words to tell you how very much we think of you in your great grief. Besides your heart being full of sorrow after the great loss you have entertained, now come the new & heavy responsibilities crowding upon you. From all my heart I pray that God may give you strength & wisdom to govern your country.…I think so much of you, as Nicky & I began our married life under similar trying circumstances.
Thank God we saw yr. dear Pap still last summer—one cannot realise that he is gone.17
In one of the last great displays of roya
l pomp before the outbreak of World War I, Great Britain bid farewell to King Edward VII. As a daughter of the late king, comforting daughter of a grieving widow, and Queen Consort of Norway, Maud played a key role in the ceremonies, staying by her mother’s side during the funeral; both women looked somber and dignified in black. The crowds that packed London that day to watch the funeral cortège make its way from Westminster Hall to Paddington Station for the journey to Windsor amounted to a staggering 2 million souls. Yet the silence among the massive throng—a sign of deep respect—was awesome. The crowds witnessed a panoply of historical proportions:
In scarlet and blue and green and purple, three by three the sovereigns rode through the palace gates, with plumed helmets, gold braid, crimson sashes, and jeweled orders flashing in the sun. After them came five heirs apparent, forty more imperial or royal highnesses, seven queens—four dowager and three regnant—and a scattering of special ambassadors from uncrowned countries. Together they represented seventy nations in the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last.18
Among the mourners that day were an impressive array of Europe’s reigning monarchs: the new king, George V, Maud’s brother; Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany; and Kings Haakon VII of Norway, George I of Greece, Ferdinand of Bulgaria, Manoel of Portugal, Albert I of the Belgians, Frederick VII of Denmark, and Alfonso XIII of Spain. It was a magnificent and dazzling display, one that gave the impression of enduring solidity. As one historian has put it, “who, seeing this self-confident parade of royalty through the streets of the world’s greatest metropolis on the occasion of Edward VII’s funeral, could imagine that their future was anything but assured?”19
Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria Page 24