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

by Christina Croft

  In fact, Queen Victoria had not by any means neglected all her duties. She continued to work diligently through official papers and took a keen interest in domestic and foreign affairs. Disraeli, ever her champion, reported that:

  “There is not a dispatch received from abroad, or sent from this country abroad, which is not submitted to the Queen…and it may be said that her signature has never been placed to any public document of which she did not know the purpose and of which she did not approve…Cabinet Councils are reported…by Minister to the Sovereign, and they often call from her critical remarks, requiring considerable attention…There is probably no person living who has such complete control over the political condition of England as the Sovereign herself.”[138]

  It was even recorded in Parliament that:

  “It is a circumstance worthy of observation that…during all the years during which necessarily she has lived in comparative retirement, she has omitted no part of that public duty, which concerns her as Sovereign of the country.”[139]

  Nevertheless, without her husband beside her, she felt totally incapable of appearing in public alone. So reclusive had she become that for five years after Albert’s death, she could not even bring herself to appear at the Opening of Parliament, leading the republicans to question whether she served any purpose whatsoever. Even the most loyal monarchists, who had initially sympathised with a grieving widow, were becoming exasperated by her invisibility; and, such was the feeling in the country that a sign had been fixed to the gates of Buckingham Palace:

  ‘These commanding premises to be let or sold, in consequence of the occupant’s declining business.’

  Obviously, ministers and members of her family were anxious about this potentially damaging state of affairs but few had the courage to tell the Queen directly of their concerns until Alice gently declared that it was time for the mourning to stop.

  “Try and gather in the few bright things you have remaining,” she wrote. “You have the privilege…in your exalted position of doing good and living for others…Forgive me, darling Mama, if I speak so openly…”[140]

  But the Queen could not forgive such honesty. Feeling angry and misunderstood, she sighed to Vicky:

  “As time has worn on and my life has become alas! a sad reality I have naturally tried to make that sad life as bearable as I can, and I think those who truly love me are anxious that I should be kept as quiet as possible, and able as much as possible to do what I have found to suit and comfort me.”[141]

  Without mentioning his name, the Queen had inadvertently raised another cause of contention between herself and Alice: the influence of her favourite servant, John Brown. First and foremost among those who ‘truly loved’ her, was the ubiquitous ghillie who was devotedly ensuring that she was being ‘kept as quiet as possible’ even to the extent of sometimes preventing her own children from seeing her.

  Ironically in the light of later events, it was Alice who first thought of bringing Brown to Osborne. As Prince Albert’s ghillie, he had proved himself to be a loyal and trusted servant, and, recalling how much her mother had enjoyed the pony trap rides which he had organised at Balmoral, Alice hoped that his presence would not only be a reminder of happier days but would also help to shake the Queen out of her seclusion.

  A couple of years after the Prince Consort’s death, Brown arrived at Osborne House and within a short time had persuaded the Queen to take daily rides, during which mistress and servant conversed as freely as equals. Initially, Alice and her siblings were relieved by Brown’s ability to distract her from her endless mourning; and the Queen so was delighted to have found such a devoted servant who anticipated all her needs that she quickly promoted him to the permanent position of her ‘personal servant for out of doors’.

  Had Brown remained out of doors, Queen Victoria’s children would have been content, but as her dependence upon him increased, so too did his sense of his own authority. Viewing himself as the Queen’s sole protector, he was soon taking charge of the rest of her staff and even issuing orders to her family. If he deemed the Queen too tired to receive visitors, he had no qualms about telling princes and princesses that they could not see her; and, in his rough-spoken manner, would brusquely announce which of them would be permitted to join her for dinner. Frequently, her children were kept waiting while he and the Queen talked freely together on any subject he chose, while they were compelled to confine their conversations to themes which would not upset her. Most troublesome of all, though, to Alice, was the manner in which he cossetted the Queen, pandering to her whims and supporting her refusal to resume her public duties.

  With tension mounting in the household, it did not take long for rumours to spread about the nature of the relationship between the Queen and her personal servant. Often they disappeared for hours into the Scottish Highlands, giving rise to stories that Brown was a medium who was helping her to make contact with Albert; or more salaciously that mistress and servant were lovers and had even secretly married. Caricatures of the Queen bathing, while Brown stood in attendance, appeared in popular papers, and just as she had once been labelled ‘Mrs Melbourne’, now she was mockingly called ‘Mrs Brown’, but, unabashed the Queen was happy to allow the sale of photographs of herself with her Highland Servant, and no amount of cajoling or criticism could persuade her to discard ‘so devoted’ and ‘so true’ a friend.

  Amid the tension and gossip and being told what to do, Alice’s brothers grew to resent Brown’s presence so intensely that Vicky suggested that all the Queen’s children should sign a petition asking for him to be removed from the household. Once again, though, it was Alice who bore the brunt of her mother’s anger for daring to broach the subject directly.

  “She is vain and conceited,” the Queen huffed, “and…when she comes here…she is dissatisfied and disagreeable.”[142]

  Shocked by the change in her once-pliable daughter, Queen Victoria could only dismiss her assertiveness as arrogance brought on by her contact with Louis’ Russian relations and the company she was now keeping.

  ‘Alice is very fond of amusing herself and of fine society,’ she told Vicky, and it irked her immensely to hear that the King of Prussia thought highly of Alice, since she, ‘has already too good an opinion of herself; it spoils her and then she expects it elsewhere which she can’t get.’[143]

  Repeatedly over the next few years, the Queen returned to the same theme, reiterating her annoyance at Louis and Alice’s attempts to press her into resuming her public duties.

  “Good Alice & Louis tire me – they are not quiet enough and always are astonished that I cannot do what I used to do,”[144] wrote the forty-nine-year-old Queen, who was already referring to herself as a ‘poor old woman’.

  Nonetheless, despite their disparate views and the underlying tension between their contrasting characters, the Queen and Alice continued their regular and affectionate correspondence; and with each passing year, Alice stated more emphatically how grateful she was to her parents for the happy childhood, to which she longed more than ever to return. Her independent spirit and outspoken views might have compromised her relationship with her mother, but combined with her soul-searching and inner dissatisfaction, they would place an even greater strain on her relationship with Louis. The joy she had expected to find in marriage and the fulfilment she had hoped to find in Hesse had not materialised, and, as her life became increasingly disappointing to her, she longed more than ever to return to the carefree days of the past.

  Chapter 16 –

  The Uncertainty of Life

  The initial euphoria in the weeks following Alice’s wedding soon faded and, as the novelty of becoming a wife and mother wore off, the blissful early years of marriage gave way to disenchantment and the painful awareness that Hesse would never truly be home, and Louis could never provide the fulfilment she craved.

  Alice’s commitment to philanthropic causes had never prevented her from enjoying beautiful clothes, scintillating conversation
and fascinating company. Even as a child, the Queen had called her a ‘vain little thing’, who delighted in dressing for special occasions, and loved to receive compliments on her pretty appearance. As a young woman that aspect of her character had not changed. It must be remembered that she was particularly close to her brother, Bertie, whose love of the ‘high life’ was legendary; but, like her father, Alice has often been misrepresented as a rather sombre stereotype of the Victorian philanthropist – serious and humourless – when, in reality, in both cases, nothing could be further from the truth.

  In Prussia, Vicky frequently attended balls and receptions where she came into contact with many foreign royalties, and, at the time of her wedding, Alice probably expected that life in Hesse would be the same. It did not take long to realise how mistaken she had been. Far from the grandeur of the Prussian Court, the Grand Ducal family lived frugally, and there was few society functions at which she might shine. Repeatedly, she expressed her surprise that her charities were so well-supported since the people were normally quite unenthusiastic and kept themselves to themselves. Having grown up among so many siblings, it came as a shock, too, in the early years of her marriage to find herself quite alone in her rooms while Louis attended to his regimental and civil duties, leaving her with no close companions for hours or even days at a time. Unsurprisingly, she revelled in any opportunity to meet with interesting people in glamorous settings, and when her mother complained that she was becoming too fond of ‘Society’, Vicky defended her by explaining that:

  “If Alice…is fond of amusement and fine society it is only because there is none in Darmstadt.”[145]

  This might not have been such a burden had she had the resources to pursue her aesthetic passions, but financial restraints prevented her from visiting places which she longed to see; and, despite her determination to contribute all she could to the welfare of the Grand Duchy, nostalgia prevented her from ever feeling truly at home.

  Nonetheless, Alice might still have found fulfilment in Hesse, if Louis had been the compatible companion that she had thought he would be, but, once the first oceanic flourish of romance had waned, she came to the sorry conclusion that they actually had very little in common.

  To many Victorian women, Louis would have been the ideal husband – faithful to his wife, whose opinions he valued and whose wishes he tried to accommodate; and loving towards his children, who adored him, and with whom he loved to play. He was still a ‘manly’ man, as Alice’s parents’ had first noted – a strong swimmer who once saved a woman from drowning in the sea; and a courageous soldier who earned the respect and loyalty of his regiment. Unfortunately, while Alice recognised that his fidelity was a rare blessing, and his courage in the face of battle was an admirable quality, his devotion was not enough to satisfy her deepest needs. Too contemplative and intelligent to settle into the role of a doting wife who was content to live solely for her husband, she soon felt frustrated by the constraints of marriage and Louis’ inability to share her deepest longings, intellectual curiosity and spiritual seeking.

  “I certainly do not belong by nature to those women who are above all wife;” she told her mother, “but circumstances have forced me to be the mother in the real sense, as in a private family, and I have had to school myself to it, I assure you, for many small self-denials have been necessary.”[146]

  Unlike Alice, who was constantly proactive, Louis was content to adapt to circumstances and settle for whatever life brought his way. The financial restraints, which so irked her, seemed not to bother him; and, in the early weeks of their marriage, while she was becoming increasingly stifled by their living arrangements, he was quite happy to remain in his parents’ house until the New Palace was completed. It was Alice who decided to approach the Grand Duke to tell him of their intention to return to England; and it was she who made virtually all the decisions concerning the furnishing and décor of their new home. While she longed for at least some opportunities to appear in society, Louis, she told her mother, was a home-loving man, who was satisfied to spend his time quietly with his family.

  “…Our life must be rather dull sometimes for a young man of spirit like him,’[147] she told her mother in 1865, but a few years later, commenting that at home he had only ‘…me, the governess and children as Umgang [company]’, she added that this didn’t bother him, since he was such a ‘home bird’.[148]

  More poignantly, though, for Alice, Louis had neither the interest nor the ability to engage in the deep conversations which she found so stimulating. The discussions she had enjoyed with her father had stirred her intellect and fed her desire to delve beneath the superficial into the most profound metaphysical questions about the nature of life, the basis of religion and the meaning or purpose of suffering. Being able to speak of these subjects was not only a pleasure but also a necessity for her, for only through discussing the questions which intrigued and tormented her could she find any real sense of intimacy or connection. Louis, however, for all his willingness to read the books that she recommended, had no natural inclination to probe such complex issues. Nor could he fully empathise with Alice’s aesthetic yearnings; while he gladly supported all her endeavours, art was of little consequence to him and he often fell asleep during their musical evenings.

  Even when it came to raising their children, their differences gradually began to emerge. Louis could not understand why Alice did not want them constantly in her company, while Alice was so taken aback by the enjoyment he took in joining their games that at times it appeared he was more like a son than a husband. In the midst of wars, duties and financial crises, the childlike quality, which had initially been so endearing, became increasingly exasperating for her as she, exhausted by the responsibilities she had chosen to undertake, longed for a strong supporter, just as her father had been to her mother.

  Underlying all the petty disparities, this was the major issue which neither Louis nor Alice could resolve or perhaps even fully comprehend. Quite simply, no matter how well-meaning and devoted he might be, and no matter how deeply Alice loved him, Louis could never live up to the venerated image that she had created of her father.

  “The older I grow the more perfect and touching and good, dear Papa’s image stands out before me,” she told the Queen. “Such an entire life for duty, so joyously and unpretendingly borne out, remains for all times something inexpressibly fine and grand! With it, how tender and gay he was!...He was and is my ideal. I never knew a man fit to place beside him, or so made to be loved and admired.”

  Although she had adored him since childhood, Alice’s idealisation of Prince Albert had intensified since his death. In the months immediately after his passing, she had been so absorbed in caring for her mother, dealing with ministers and preparing for her wedding that there had been little time to come to terms with his loss, but, in subsequent years those suppressed emotions resurfaced and created a perfect man with whom no one, not even her husband, could ever compete.

  It wounded Alice deeply to realise that even after his death her father continued to be misrepresented or criticised, but when, in 1866, following the success of General Grey’s account of the early life of Prince Albert, Queen Victoria commissioned the German scholar, Theodore Martin, to write his biography from the years since his marriage, Alice opposed the idea. Unwilling to have such treasured memories made public, she told the Queen that she doubted the wisdom of such a venture. Queen Victoria, however, had set her mind on correcting the erroneous descriptions of the Prince and ensuring that a more accurate image of him would be preserved for posterity. When the book was eventually published, Alice changed her mind and, recognising its value, wrote effusively to the Queen that:

  “People can only be better for reading about dear Papa…To me the volume is inexpressively precious…as a record of life spent in the highest aims, with the noblest conception of duty as a leading star.”

  As she became more dissatisfied with her marriage, Alice’s longing to return to her homel
and and the happy world of her romanticised childhood, became ever more pronounced.

  “I ever look back to my childhood and girlhood as the happiest time of my life,” she wrote in 1869. “The responsibilities, and often the want of many a thing, in married life can never give unalloyed happiness.”[149]

  With each year her nostalgia increased and her letters became more expressive of her yearning to return to the past. While visiting Scotland in 1876, she wrote of the relief of being back amid familiar scenery where she felt her father’s presence so strongly, for, ‘…no home in the world can become quite what the home of one’s parents and childhood was.”[150]

  Although Louis could do nothing to alleviate Alice’s inner turmoil, he clearly understood what lay at the root of her discontentment. It is unlikely that he spoke of it at the time of their marriage, but fifteen years later, a letter from Alice to the Queen shows that in the aftermath of Prince Albert’s death, he realised the precariousness of his own position.

  “Louis thought I would not hold to my engagement then anymore – for my heart was too filled with beloved adored Papa…to have room or wish for other thoughts.”[151]

  No matter how clearly he perceived the situation, he was left in the difficult position of being unable to change it; and for Alice, his apparent failure to empathise drove her to delve more deeply into her own inner world, seeking out answers to profound spiritual questions. She longed more than ever for a soul-mate who was capable of sharing the depths of her turmoil and, in 1868, such a man arrived in Darmstadt.