With the death of Prince Albert, it was obvious that there would be no Christmas celebrations at Windsor that year, and it occurred to King Leopold of the Belgians that it would be most beneficial for the Queen to leave at once for Osborne. Perhaps he believed that typhus might still be prevalent in Windsor Castle, or that distance from the death scene might ease the pain of parting. Either way, the Queen could not bear to abandon Prince Albert’s body; and Alice, unwilling to create further upheaval, was equally reluctant to leave. Nonetheless, when she realised that her mother’s health depended upon it, she finally persuaded the Queen that it was a necessary move, not least for the sake of the younger children, who might also contract typhoid if they were to remain in the castle. Although Alice would later regret the decision to leave, the Queen yielded, and as the household at Windsor was rapidly sent away, the staff at Osborne hurriedly prepared to receive the royal party just six days after Albert’s death.
On the morning before their departure, the Queen, leaning on Alice’s arm, walked around the grounds of Frogmore in search of a suitable spot for the Prince’s mausoleum. Bertie and Louis, who had travelled to England as soon as he heard what had happened, were waiting for them there and, no sooner was the site chosen, than plans began on a design for his final resting place, where the Queen repeatedly expressed the hope that she would soon join him.
On 19th December a sombre group of black-clad travellers reached Osborne. The sea air might have been conducive to health, and the seclusion might have provided the privacy that the Queen craved, but, if it was hoped that the distance from Windsor would alleviate the pain of her loss, nowhere could have been less effective than the house which Prince Albert had designed. For Alice, the entire estate echoed with poignant memories of her father – from the nursery and Swiss Cottage where he had watched her play, to the private suite where his belongings lay as he had left them, and, on the Queen’s instructions, would remain for the rest of her life.
Even in the seclusion of Osborne, it was impossible to ignore the necessity of making arrangements for the funeral. Prince Albert had specifically requested a simple service with no memorials but, despite her insistence on adhering to his plans in every other realm of life, the Queen was not prepared to let her ‘angel’ be forgotten. In no time at all, his portrait hung over every bed she would ever sleep in; statues of him appeared all over the country; George Gilbert Scott was invited to design the impressive Albert Memorial; and eventually the Royal Albert Hall would ensure his name would live on through future generations.
By the standard of royal funerals, however, the service on 28th December was relatively simple. There was no lying in state or torchlight procession as had become customary, and very few foreign royalties attended. Nonetheless, the grenadiers provided a full Guard of Honour and the short procession from Windsor Castle to St. George’s Chapel was carried out with all the ceremony of a royal occasion. Wreaths of green moss and violets, which Alice and the Queen had made, were placed on the coffin.
“It was a profoundly mourning and impressive sight,” wrote the future Dean of Westminster, Arthur Stanley. “Indeed, considering the magnitude of the event, and the persons present all agitated by the same emotion, I do not think I have ever seen or shall ever see anything so affecting.”[105]
Queen Victoria, who had returned to Windsor with her family, survived the service, but, unable to watch the coffin being carried to the vault where it was to remain until the completion of the mausoleum, she and her daughters returned to Osborne the moment the rite was complete.
For two months, Queen Victoria remained out of sight on the Isle of Wight, declaring that she had lost interest in all earthly affairs, but, though the country and government sympathised with her grief, parliamentary business could not be put on hold indefinitely. For several days, official papers requiring the monarch’s signature had piled up, delaying the passing of laws and other important business. Under normal circumstances, it would have been natural for the Queen’s heir to undertake her duties during her absence, but, as she sought someone to blame for her loss, her eyes fixed on Bertie. His careless and selfish behaviour had, in her opinion, broken his father’s heart and therefore he was ultimately responsible for his death.
“I never can or shall look at him without a shudder,” she told Vicky and, though Alice did her utmost to persuade her that Bertie was suffering, too, she could never take him into her confidence, or, indeed, completely forgive him.
Moreover, prior to his father’s death, arrangements had been made for Bertie to visit the Holy Land, and, since Queen was determined to abide by all the Prince Consort’s plans, within a few weeks of the funeral, the Prince of Wales departed with his suite. With Bertie out of favour, and Vicky out of the country, eighteen-year-old Alice was left to shoulder an exceptionally heavy burden. Not only was she to act as an emotional prop to her mother, but also, she saw no alternative but to take on her duties as sovereign. Within days of her father’s death, she was busily reading through the numerous messages from ministers, formulating responses and handing them to her mother to sign. It was she who met with the Prime Minister and politicians, and she who arranged for the Queen to sit in a room adjacent to that in which the Privy Council met so that she could hear their discussions without having to be seen.
“It is impossible to speak too highly of the strength of mind and self-sacrifice shown by Princess Alice during these dreadful days,” the Times reported. “Her Royal Highness has certainly understood that it was her duty to help and support her mother in her great sorrow, and it was in a great measure due to her that the Queen has been able to bear with such wonderful resignation the irreparable loss that so suddenly and terribly befell her.”[106]
Commendable and necessary as Alice’s actions were, the extent of her responsibilities also provided an escape from her own inner turmoil. She was ever her father’s daughter, and, just as Prince Albert had used work as a distraction from emotional trauma, so, too, did Alice suppress her grief by accumulating more and more duties.
“She also gained at this time,” wrote her friend, the Grand Duchess of Baden, “…the desire for constant occupation, which in her public as well as her private life became part of herself.”[107]
But for Alice, as for her father, in time her suppressed emotions would take a severe toll on her health and ultimately, perhaps, contribute to her early death. More immediately they turned her from a happy bride-to-be, into a serious young woman who no longer even had time to delight in the prospect of her forthcoming marriage.
“It was but natural,” her sister recalled, “that during the first weeks of her great sorrow, and of her many new duties, the thought of her own future should be put into the background.”[108]
Louis’ presence in those first few months did not provide the support Alice needed, quite simply because she was too busy and too preoccupied to open her heart to him. Seeing how busy she was and the extent to which the Queen now depended upon her, Louis began to wonder whether the wedding would take place at all. Although marriage would provide Alice with an escape from the gloom and responsibilities of the British court, it would be difficult for her to abandon her mother at such a time.
Moreover, in those dark days, Alice was changing rapidly. She was no longer the child who delighted in impressing the father on whom she depended, but rather a competent and independent woman determined to imitate his example of service and self-sacrifice. Of course, her personality had not changed overnight. She maintained her exquisite sense of humour and her capacity to bring comfort to those in need, but now her gentleness was buttressed by a will of iron, and, just as she unstintingly devoted herself to duty, she expected that those around her would do the same.
“How I grieve for her!” wrote Lady Knightley, who met her at this time. “Her young life crushed and blighted by a weight of care and responsibility of which few have any idea.”[109]
As a young girl on whom few people depended, Alice had been deeply attr
acted by Louis’ child-like nature, but now that she had assumed so many responsibilities, would his carefree attitude still hold such appeal? What was more, she had always adored her father but, since his death, both she and the Queen had transformed him into such a model of strength and virtue that, regardless of her fiancé’s qualities or how deeply she loved him, would he would ever be able to live up to her ideal of the perfect husband?
Whether or not such questions occurred to Alice, it was agreed that the wedding would take place in the summer. Prince Albert had wished it, and, despite her reliance on Alice, the Queen would abide by her promise ‘that his wishes – his plans – about everything are to be my law!’
In February, the Queen signed an official agreement with the Hessians, confirming the dowry and annuity which Alice would receive, and the guarantee that, should Louis predecease her, she would be cared for and provided with a home by the Grand Duke of Hesse. In the meantime, Alice sought to soothe her grief by creating a series of drawings for Louis, but nothing, not even the prospect of marriage, could erase the memory of Prince Albert – a rather macabre memento of whom she cherished:
“…We went into Princess Alice’s rooms,” wrote Lady Knightley, “and she showed me a great treasure, a picture of her beloved father, taken after death, with the beautiful face looking so calm and peaceful. There we lingered on, talking in the twilight; Princess Alice lying on the sofa, while I sat in an arm-chair at her feet, and Princess Helena was on the floor at mine, and Prince Alfred perched on the table. We had quite a roomful at dinner, all talking and laughing together.”
In April, on Alice’s nineteenth birthday, the Queen presented her with a touching gift that her father had specifically commissioned: a gold bracelet engraved with her image and a ship, indicating her forthcoming departure for Hesse. Inscribed was a message, added by the Queen:
“To dear Alice from your loving parents, Albert and Victoria, who though visibly parted are ever united.”
It was the last material gift that Alice would receive from her father, and one which she would treasure for the rest of her life.
Chapter 13
A Love Which Increases Daily
The Dining Room of Osborne House had long been the hub of happy family gatherings. When the Queen was in residence, dinner was served each evening at eight o’clock sharp, and she and Prince Albert sat down to eat surrounded by portraits of themselves and their relations. In the summertime, light streamed through the bay windows, flooding the room and illuminating Franz Xavier Winterhalter’s most famous depiction of the Royal Family. Created in 1846, and hung for the Queen’s thirtieth birthday, the painting shows Victoria and Albert surrounded by their five eldest children in an exquisite combination of domesticity and regal grandeur.
Three-year-old Alice is holding her baby sister, Lenchen, and gazing towards Vicky, while her father’s left hand dangles above her, just out of reach. Sixteen years later, that pose might have taken on a new significance as Alice entered the Dining Room on her wedding day: her father was still beyond her reach, and, though she had supported her family in his absence, her eyes were now turned towards a new life in Germany, where Vicky was soon to become Empress.
With its brightness and happy memories, Osborne might have been the perfect setting for a wedding. On July 1st 1862, as Alice entered the Dining Room on the arm of her uncle, the Duke of Coburg, the furniture had been removed, a makeshift altar erected, and a plethora of summer scents emanated from countless flowers. To Queen Victoria and other witnesses, however, the occasion was ‘more like a funeral’ than a wedding, for, while Alice and her bridesmaids – her three younger sisters and her future sister-in-law, Anna of Hesse – were dressed in white lace, the rest of the congregation was clothed in black mourning. The Queen, out of sight by a window to the left of the altar, sobbed quietly throughout the service as she gazed at the painting of beloved Albert; and the recently-widowed Archbishop of York, presiding over the ceremony in place of the Archbishop of Canterbury who was too ill to attend, also had tears in his eyes.
Without ostentation, the service lasted for just under an hour, after which the Lord Chamberlain, Viscount Sydney, led the bride and groom to the Horn Room to complete the official register. At two o’clock, the guests gathered in a marquee on the lawn for the wedding breakfast, after which they left the island while the Queen withdrew to her rooms where Alice and Louis joined her for luncheon.
It had been a private ceremony with none of the pomp and rejoicing which normally accompanies royal weddings – in fact, there had been so little publicity that, as the royal train bringing the guests caused diversions at stations en route, many people believed that the delays were due to an accident. Nonetheless, gifts arrived from across the Empire, the most outstanding of which was a priceless gold fan inlaid with rubies and emeralds from the Maharajah Dhuleep Singh. Earlier that morning, Queen Victoria had given Alice a prayer book, while ‘the Maidens of England’ sent a polyglot Bible, with a matching prayer book from ‘the Matrons of England’. The Countess of Fife presented Alice with an exquisite jewel casket; and the Duchess of Athol had commissioned an inscribed paper weight surmounted by a royal stag. There were countless pieces of china and table decorations, all, in the Queen’s opinion, ‘really beautiful things’ but no amount of beautiful gifts could make up for the absence of the bride’s father.
At five o’clock that evening, Alice and Louis left Osborne House for a three-day honeymoon a few miles away in Appley near Ryde, where a small suite of rooms had been prepared for them in Castle St. Clare[n], the seaside home of the Conservative Party politician, Colonel Vernon-Harcourt. In spite of the lack of publicity, crowds had gathered to cheer them on their way, and, though the weather was overcast, Alice could at last taste the first real joy she had known in seven weary months.
Following the bride and groom in a separate carriage was the Queen’s friend and Lady of the Bedchamber, Jane Churchill; Louis’ equerry, Baron Westerweller; and General Seymour, former Groom-in-Waiting to Prince Albert, the three of whom were to make up the suite during their stay at St Clare. All three, however, maintained a discreet distance and, after all the hustle and bustle of recent weeks, Louis and Alice were finally able to be alone.
The rain, which poured throughout the honeymoon, seemed barely to touch Alice and Louis as they basked in each other’s company. Their mutual delight was apparent to everyone who saw them, and several observers commented that, after so many exhausting months of service, marriage had brought a healthy glow to Alice’s cheeks, since she and Louis were so clearly in love. Even then, though, she could not allow herself to appear too happy in the midst of her mother’s grief, and despite the briefness of the honeymoon and the short distance from Appley to Osborne, she still made time to write to the Queen, thanking her for her kindness and assuring her of her unchanging love.
Letters, however, were insufficient for the Queen. On only the second day of the honeymoon, she arrived at St Clare with her sister, Feodore, Bertie, Lenchen, Louise and a posse of attendants in tow. What Louis thought of this invasion by his in-laws remains unrecorded but the Queen observed that although Alice had a cold, she was obviously happy and filled with affection for her husband.
The following evening, the newly-weds returned to Osborne House, where a suite of rooms had been prepared for them. Over the next few days they spent much of their time with the Queen. Alice rode out with her daily in the rain, and she and Louis dined with her each evening after which Alice entertained the family by reading aloud or playing her father’s harmonium. Repeatedly the Queen observed how happy and ‘nice’ she and Louis were together and how well they suited one another. So impressed was she by her new son-in-law’s attentiveness and sensitivity that, having already raised him from ‘Serene’ to ‘Royal’ Highness, she awarded him the Order of the Garter – the highest British Order of Chivalry.
Eight days after the wedding, the time came to leave for Darmstadt and, despite her love for her husband,
the prospect of leaving her family and her childhood home was so heart-rending for Alice that she broke down in tears. Now, it was the Queen’s turn to offer comfort. The evening before the departure, she soothingly reminded Alice that they would not be separated for long, as she intended to abide by the plan of ensuring that she and Louis would, initially at least, spend several months each year in England.
The next morning, the Queen took the young couple aside to lecture Louis on the importance of taking care of Alice’s health. Her daughter, she observed, looked thin and would need looking after; and, in her typical euphemistic manner, implied that this would be especially important when Alice became pregnant. Already, with Vicky’s traumatic experience in mind, she had asked her doctor to supply the newly-weds with a detailed letter describing the symptoms of pregnancy and the best means of ensuring a safe confinement – a matter of great importance in an age when approximately thirty-three women out of a thousand died in childbirth. The advice was more timely than anyone yet realised for, by the end of her honeymoon Alice was already in what the Queen liked to call ‘an unfortunate condition’. Louis’ sensible responses convinced the Queen that she need not worry, and, reluctant as she was to see Alice go, she was satisfied that he would do everything possible to make her happy.
At half past four in the afternoon of 9th July, amid many tears, Alice hugged her mother goodbye, and, after bidding farewell to her sisters and the household, she and Louis left Osborne for the royal yacht, which would take them to Belgium for the first stage of their journey. The sea was calm and by evening they had reached Brussels where they remained overnight before boarding a train for Hesse via Cologne. Three days after leaving England, they arrived at Bingen on the Hessian border, where an official party was waiting to welcome them. Continuing by train through the wine-growing region of Mayence, they boarded a ‘gaily-decked’ steamer to cross the Rhine before making the final stretch of the journey by rail.
Alice, The Enigma - A Biography of Queen Victoria's Daughter Page 13