In the midst of their joy, however, Prince Albert was once again afflicted by illness. In an almost identical replay of the symptoms he had suffered following Vicky’s engagement, within a couple of days of Alice and Louis’ betrothal he was suddenly too weak to even hold a pen. As before, though, his symptoms gradually subsided, leaving Alice free to delight in Louis’ company.
Throughout the darkening days of November and December, they travelled everywhere together, attending functions, taking tea with the visiting French Empress, and spending their evenings contentedly in the company Alice’s parents as Prince Albert attempted to instil in Louis some of his own ideas about German politics. The rain, which had blighted much of the year, continued into the winter but, as the Queen wrote to her uncle, ‘perpetual sunshine’ emanated from the young lovers, who were ‘so happy, so devoted to each other, that it does one good to see it’.
Christmas that year was especially delightful for Alice. From Windsor, the Lord-in-Waiting, Viscount Torrington, reported to The Times that:
“Even as in a public bazaar, where people jostle one another, so lords, grooms, Queen and princes laughed and talked, forgot to bow, and freely turned their backs on one another…I never saw more real happiness than the scene of the mother and all her children: the Prince Consort lost all his stiffness.Altogether a jolly Christmas.”
Louis, who was not ‘in the least in the way’, contributed to the joy of the festivities and was, as Prince Albert told Vicky, ‘…an accession. He is a very dear good fellow who pleases us better and better daily.’[85]
As 1860 drew to a close the new year was filled with the promise of a wonderful future for Alice. Tragically, it was a promise that would never be fulfilled. Already dark clouds were gathering and events were about to unfold which would permanently alter Alice’s life, her outlook and her temperament, and turn her almost overnight from a carefree young girl into a serious-minded and responsible woman.
Chapter 9 –
Everything Has Changed
Throughout Alice’s life, ‘Grandmama’ – the Duchess of Kent – had been an almost constant presence and a source of much affection for the royal children. The once fraught relationship between the Queen and the Duchess, which had marred the early years of Victoria’s reign, had been replaced by mutual affection and the restoration of a bond which had been so severely tested in the days of ‘the Kensington System’. Following the departure of Lehzen and the removal of John Conroy from the Duchess of Kent’s household, Prince Albert had done much to bring the Queen and the Duchess together, and from the moment that Alice was born, her fond grandmother was a significant member of the family who showered her grandchildren with love.
“For the past two years,” Prince Albert wrote in 1861, “[Queen Victoria’s] constant care and occupation have been to keep watch over her mother’s comfort, and the influence of this upon her own character has been most salutary.”[86]
The Duchess frequently accompanied the Royal Family on their annual migrations and had her own suites of rooms in their palaces, but the Queen had also given her the picturesque Frogmore House on the Windsor estate as a permanent home. Alice frequently visited her there and enjoyed many happy hours, playing the walnut piano in the lilac-coloured sitting room while her grandmother listened with delight. Revelling in the antics of her grandchildren, the Duchess was present at every birthday party, joined in the celebrations for Alice’s engagement, and was as much a part of Alice’s life as her parents and siblings were. Being in good health, she participated, too, in many formal events, becoming a popular figure with the public and greatly loved by her ladies-in-waiting and other members of her household.
By 1861, however, the Duchess had suffered a series of bereavements which gradually undermined her constitution. In 1856, Prince Karl of Leiningen, her son by her first marriage, suffered an aneurysm and died at the early age of fifty-two.
“Poor Mama is chiefly to be commiserated, who thus sees her only son quit the world before herself,” Prince Albert wrote to his stepmother. “She is much bowed down but composed and touching in her sorrow.”[87]
Four years later, the death of her last-surviving sister, Julia, affected her deeply and, in the early months of 1861, her health began to decline. In February, feverishness and a painful swelling in her arm prevented her from accompanying the Royal Family to Osborne; and, in early March, her doctors performed surgery to drain a deep-rooted abscess. The operation had little impact on the inflammation and soon other sores and swellings appeared, convincing her doctor, James Clark, that she was suffering from cancer. Clark, unwilling to cause distress, kept this diagnosis to himself but, while Queen Victoria repeatedly assured herself that, apart from the sores, her mother was in good health, she was already aware that something was seriously amiss. Several times she urgently pleaded with Vicky to bring her children to visit her grandmother before it was too late:
“Don’t delay your visit, don’t delay bringing both children – God knows when you could again show them to your beloved grandmother…it is a duty which you owe her, your only grandmother, who has ever been so kind to you.”[88]
For Vicky, however, abandoning everything to return at once to England was simply impossible. Only two months earlier the King of Prussia had died and, as Fritz’ father succeeded him, Vicky was elevated to the position of Crown Princess. In the midst of adapting to the responsibilities of her new role, and unaware of the seriousness of the Duchess’ condition, she promised to visit in the summer.
On 12th March, Alice and her parents visited the Duchess at Frogmore and, while the Queen was distressed by the appearance of yet another sore, she confidently wrote to Vicky that there was no immediate cause for alarm. Alice, who was now spending her evenings reading to, or playing the piano for her grandmother, visited again on the 14th and there appeared to be no deterioration. Reassured by the doctors that her mother’s life was not in danger, the Queen continued her duties, including, on 15th March, inspecting the new gardens of the Royal Horticultural Society in South Kensington. Following a tour of the gardens, the Queen returned to Buckingham Palace, leaving Prince Albert to his discussions with members of the society. He was still in Kensington when an urgent message from the Duchess’ doctor arrived, urging him to return home as quickly as possible. The doctor was waiting for him at the palace and informed him that his mother-in-law’s health had suddenly deteriorated and her condition was now so critical that it would be advisable for the family to go at once to Frogmore. All plans were immediately cancelled and, at seven o’clock in the evening, Alice and her parents anxiously boarded a specially commissioned train to Windsor.
At Frogmore, they found the Duchess in a great deal of pain. Throughout the long night, the Queen frequently returned to her bedside as she drifted in and out of consciousness until she was no longer able to even recognise her own daughter. By dawn it was clear that she was fading rapidly, and, at ten o’clock in the morning, with Alice and Prince Albert by her side, she died peacefully, holding the Queen’s hand.
This was Alice’s first direct experience of death but, in the wake of her mother’s all-consuming grief, she had little time to express her own shock and desolation.
“Oh! the sickness of heart, the agony,” the Queen wailed, “the thought of the daily, hourly blank was and is unbearable.”[89]
Guilt for their years of estrangement overwhelmed her, and the thought of how close they had been in recent times left her so bereft and bewildered that she could barely function. Putting her own feelings aside, Alice dutifully did all she could to comfort her mother, and, her efforts did not go unnoticed:
“Dear good Alice,” wrote the Queen, “was full of intense feeling, tenderness and distress for me, and she…loved ‘Grandmama’ so dearly.”[90]
So great was their sorrow that neither the Queen nor her daughters attended the funeral, fearing it would all be ‘too much’, but when a red-eyed Prince Albert returned and assured them that it had all been carried
out perfectly, Queen Victoria’s grief only intensified.
For days and weeks and months, her mourning continued unabated.
“She is greatly upset and feels her childhood rush back upon her memory with vivid force,” wrote Prince Albert, “Her grief is extreme…In body she is well, though terribly nervous…she remains almost entirely alone.”[91]
Frequently bursting into tears, she neglected her duties and suffered such a complete breakdown that Prince Albert was compelled to assume all her responsibilities while trying to ease her pain and organise the Duchess’ estate. Often the stress proved too much for him and he urged Alice to ‘go and comfort your mother.’
In an effort to raise her spirits, Alice accompanied her for a drive in a rubber-wheeled carriage, as the noise of metallic wheels grated on the Queen’s nerves; and each evening she sat with her, quietly trying to support her as she wallowed in her memories and repeatedly relived the Duchess’ final hours.
The preparations for Alice’s wedding, which had once been so joyful, now became a trial for the Queen, who dreaded meeting anyone outside her immediate family and would have preferred to retire from public life altogether. ‘Everything has changed since that fearful blow,’ she told Vicky; and, for Alice, ‘everything’ included any possibility of enjoying the prospect of her forthcoming marriage.
With great reluctance, the Queen attended a meeting of the Privy Council on 1st May to formally announce Alice’s engagement and arrange an official request for her dowry. Two days later, when the request was conveyed to the House of Commons, Disraeli responded in a typically sycophantic manner:
“The interest which this House takes in the domestic happiness of Her Majesty must be increased when we remember that it relates to the accomplished Princess whose good fortune it will be in another land to represent in a manner gratifying to all Englishmen the character of her country. That lady, as is well known to public opinion and by her private conduct to many – to the country generally, and to this House – has already shown a disposition so eminent for its good qualities, and an intelligence so bright and winning, that I am sure it will not be a mere formal ceremony on the part of the House of Commons when they express in the most cordial and unanimous manner the satisfaction they feel, and their readiness to consider in a manner becoming the occasion the recommendation brought to our notice in the Message from the Crown.”[92]
With the support of the Prime Minister, Palmerston, Parliament agreed to a £30,000 dowry and an annuity of £6,000. Although this was considered a very generous settlement, it was clear that Alice’s financial situation in Hesse would never compare with the fortune which Vicky would one day inherit.
“She will not be able to do great things with it,”[93] Prince Albert remarked.
Alice, though, was happy with her lot, and looked forward to a forthcoming visit from her fiancé to alleviate the gloom which now pervaded the royal household. Her mother did not share her excitement. Prior to the Duchess’ death, she had been happy about the prospect of seeing Louis again but now she ‘dreaded’ his coming since, as she told Vicky, she was, ‘quite unfit and unable to be cheerful.’
Louis’ arrival on May 18th did little to lift the gloom. Hardly had he settled into Osborne House than he contracted measles and had to retire to his room for several days. Alice endured this ‘trial with her usual sweet temper and patience’ but, within a short time, her eight-year-old brother, Leopold, was also confined to bed with a far more serious illness.
Leopold’s health had long been a cause of concern. At the age of two, he had fallen on his face and bled so profusely that he was forced to remain in bed for a fortnight. Since then, all the typical bumps and bruises of childhood that normally pass unnoticed, had resulted in profuse bleeding and swellings in his joints, which at times left him crippled with pain. Often he was too ill to accompany the rest of the family on their travels and it was obvious to his parents that something was seriously amiss. It was not until 1860, when Leopold was seven-years-old, that James Clark finally diagnosed the inherited condition: haemophilia.
Lacking the protein, Factor VIII, the blood of a haemophiliac fails to clot, so even a minor cut could prove fatal and the slightest knock could lead to agonising bleeding into the joints. A few weeks before Louis’ visit, Leopold had suffered from haematuria, and now he experienced a series of nosebleeds and became, in the words of his sister, Lenchen, ‘very seriously ill’.
For Alice, Louis’ visit was marred not only by anxiety about the invalids, but also by the atypically tense relations between her parents. Having previously witnessed only their mutual devotion and her mother’s readiness to yield to Prince Albert in everything, she was distressed to observe a sudden distance and irritability between them. Moreover, it was painful to realise that, as her mother’s mental state became increasing fragile, so too did her father’s health – and this, without a doubt, was at the heart of the tension in their relationship.
The Queen’s typical response to any upsetting situation or emotional trauma was to weep copiously and complain of the stress to her ‘nerves’. This was not simply a histrionic display to gain attention, but a virtually uncontrollable psychological reaction. At such times, she could not bear loud noises or excitement, and felt so helpless that her only recourse was to withdraw from company to bemoan her fate and lament the human condition. So it was that, around the time of Vicky’s wedding, she wrote page upon page of her sorrow; and so it was that, after the death of the Duchess of Kent, she could not be consoled or cajoled into finding relief. Her relief was her suffering. The more tears she shed, the more, she believed, she demonstrated the extent of her love, and thereby assuaged the guilt she felt for any past disagreements or resentment.
For years, Prince Albert had supported the Queen through her bouts of nerves and her periods of violent emotion but now even he could no longer endure her excessive and seemingly self-indulgent grief. Exhausted by his own physical ailments and stressed by the burden of so many responsibilities, he told her it was time to put an end to her mourning as there were duties requiring her attention. More poignantly, in the light of subsequent events, he questioned how she would cope if something even worse were to befall her – a tragedy which, it seems, he already suspected was about to happen.
In response, Queen Victoria bombarded Vicky with a stream of letters, complaining not only of her overwhelming grief but also of the fact that men were incapable of understanding such powerful emotion.
Prince Albert had a quite different reaction to emotional trauma, and one which the Queen found equally difficult to comprehend. No matter what was happening in his personal life, his overriding sense of duty would not permit him to relinquish his responsibilities. On the contrary, the greater his stress, the harder he worked, as though by taking control of external affairs he might somehow ease his inner turmoil and distract himself from his thoughts. As a child, he had thrown himself into his studies to combat the confusion he felt at being abandoned by his mother; and, in the early years of his marriage, he devoted himself to reorganising the palaces to relieve the frustration of having his talents stifled. Sooner or later, however, his suppressed emotion inevitably exploded in a variety of physical symptoms, most of which left his doctors baffled as to their cause. Thus, after both Vicky’s and Alice’s engagements, as the Queen vociferously bewailed the loss of her daughters, Prince Albert remained stoically silent, only to suffer such intense rheumatic pains that he could not even raise his arm.
The Queen’s melodramatic sobbing and constant reliving of sad events have often been viewed as so self-indulgent that even Prince Albert lost patience with her unrestrained grief. At the same time, though, through her eyes, many of the Prince’s physical ailments were simply the result of hypochondria and a lack of ‘pluck’. Throughout all the years she had known him, he had been suffering from one kind of malady or another. On one of his earliest visits to England, he had, while recovering from sea-sickness, fainted during a dance. In the f
irst few months of their marriage, he had difficulty adjusting to the late hours and late breakfasts, which he found difficult to digest (as indeed at the time he found the Queen’s imperious behaviour difficult to swallow) and which left him with a feeling of exhaustion for the rest of the day. Stomach-cramps and digestive disorders regularly plagued him; and, when he contracted an otherwise minor infection, his symptoms were usually far worse and lasted far longer than would normally be expected. Queen Victoria, who was proud of her strong constitution, had as much difficulty understanding his illnesses as he did understanding her ‘nerves’.
In former years each accepted the other’s physical or psychological responses to events, and their differences created a balance: Prince Albert supported the Queen through her mood swings and mental anguish, and in return she sympathised with his physical ailments. By the spring of 1861, however, as the Queen was overwrought by the death of her mother, and Albert’s physical symptoms had intensified, neither was capable of sustaining the other. It therefore fell to Alice to offer emotional support to both of her parents, and the effort involved impinged upon her own happiness.
While trying in vain to comfort her mother, she was also aware that her father’s health was failing. Now he had toothache with no apparent cause, followed by abscesses on his gums, weight loss, hair loss, swollen ankles, muscle and joint pain, extreme cold, exhaustion, and the familiar digestive disorders. He was also uncharacteristically cantankerous, looked older than his forty-one years; and, ever since his visit to Coburg the previous summer, he was frequently depressed and convinced that he was dying. He had been particularly attracted to a William Branks’ book Heaven our Home, and, after reading from it, told the Queen:
Alice, The Enigma - A Biography of Queen Victoria's Daughter Page 10