In an age of high infant mortality rates when the loss of a child was common even in royal families, it was quite remarkable that Alice had passed through childhood with little experience of death. Queen Victoria herself had not seen a dead body until the age of forty-one, when her mother’s death marked a turning point for her, as it did for Alice: a banishing from the Eden of ignorance to the startling awareness of human mortality and the briefness of life.
From that point onwards, death surrounded Alice, not only through the all-consuming loss of her father, but also through various tragic incidents which occurred in the midst of her everyday life. Shortly after her arrival in Darmstadt, a young soldier collapsed while on duty in her home and died the same night. A couple of years later, while she and Louis were boating on the pond in Kranichstein, they heard a commotion and noticed a man floating face-down in the water. Rowing closer, they were able to pull him into their boat only to discover that his face was ‘already blue and quite lifeless’ and, as all attempts to revive him proved futile, it was realised that he had committed suicide.
“…It was very unpleasant for me,” Alice wrote to the Queen, “to have that disfigured corpse next to me in the boat: and it haunts me now…for a violent death leaves frightful traces, so unlike anything else!...It brings death before one in its worst form…The indifference with which people treated it, and dragged him along was also revolting to one’s feelings.”[152]
Equally shocking, was the premature death of Louis’ sister, twenty-one-year-old Anna. In the summer of 1864, Anna had married the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin and nine months later she gave birth to a little girl. Initially, the confinement appeared to have gone well and Anna was recovering quickly when she suddenly began to show symptoms of puerperal fever. Her death a week later came as a terrible blow to her family and particularly to Louis, to whom she had been very close. For Alice, it served as a spur to devote herself still more diligently to her charities, as:
“…it makes one feel the uncertainty of life, and the necessity of labour, self-denial, charity, and all those virtues which we ought to strive after. Oh that I may I die having done my work and not having sinned with [neglecting my duty], the fault into which it is easiest to fall.”[153]
Within a week of Anna’s funeral, further sad news reached Darmstadt when Louis’ cousin, Tsarevich Nicholas of Russia, died suddenly of spinal meningitis, at the age of twenty-one.
Two years later, in the summer of 1867, Alice and Louis attended a ball at India House in London, where they dined with the Turkish Ambassador, Constantine Musurus. During the meal, the Ambassador’s wife became breathless and, as she retired from the table, she fainted. A doctor was called and a driver summoned to return her to the Embassy but she died in the carriage en route.
Hardly had Alice and Louis returned to Darmstadt when another sad event occurred within their own home. In 1863, Alice had taken an illiterate thirteen-year-old Malayan boy into her service and, within a short time, ‘my good Willem’ had become a constant companion for her children and a much-loved member of the household. His untimely death in August 1867 was yet another reminder of life’s unpredictability; and when a second valued servant, a footman named Jȁger, died of consumption that autumn, Alice wrote that ‘a bit of my heart went with them.’
By the time that twenty-three-year-old Alice was working with the casualties of the Austro-Prussian War, she had already lived through the deaths of her grandmother, her father, her nephew, her sister-in-law and several members of the household. Those experiences combined with her concern for her brother Leopold’s health, and her rising frustration with her life in Hesse, were spurring her to probe the mysteries of mortality and eternity.
Throughout her life, her Christian faith had been a firm anchor in times of sorrow and the inspiration behind many of her charitable works. Her letters frequently mentioned her trust in God and her absolute certainty of an afterlife in which she would see her father again. Her faith had served, too, as an outlet for her dissatisfaction, which she sought to dispel by constantly trying to ‘improve’ herself by painstakingly correcting her perceived faults. Even as an adolescent, her efforts to conquer her emotions and reactions had won the Queen’s admiration, but the continual striving for perfection was exhausting, and her failure to live up to the high standards she set for herself invariably led to discouragement and a sense of her own inadequacy – particularly when she compared herself to the ideal of her father.
By the mid-1860s, this sense of inadequacy alongside the suffering and discord she saw all around her provoked in her a desire to make sense of the apparent disparity between her belief in a loving God, and the experience of her everyday life. Her mother’s simple faith provided few answers to the questions that burned within her, and she began to read widely, becoming absorbed in the works of many modern thinkers who had not only shared the doubts which began to plague her – and which led the superficial Queen Augusta of Prussia to label her an atheist – but were also presenting a quite revolutionary interpretation of Christianity. She and Louis read together the writings of the evangelical preacher, Frederick William Robertson, whose doubts had taken him through various spiritual crises; and, in 1868 she became aware that the contentious Swabian philosopher and theologian, David Strauss, was living in Darmstadt.
Separated from his wife and renowned for his affairs, Strauss had provoked a storm of controversy thirty years earlier when he published his book: The Life of Jesus Critically Examined, which claimed that the New Testament could not be taken literally. Having dismissed their historical accuracy by pointing out the discrepancies between the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, he systematically worked through the accounts of Christ’s miracles to demonstrate that rather than being actual events they were myths, created to show that Jesus was the fulfilment of the Jewish Messianic prophecies.
At the time, such ideas were so unorthodox that many Christians viewed them as blasphemous, and when the book was translated into English by the equally scandalous George Eliot[s], it caused such furore that the Earl of Shaftesbury went so far as to describe it as ‘the most pestilential book ever vomited out of the jaws of hell’. As the controversy raged, Strauss eventually withdrew from theology for twenty years, focussing instead on the lives of various philosophers.
In spite of his melancholic reputation and the debate surrounding his work, Alice was intrigued by Strauss’ writings and, in the autumn of 1868, invited him to visit her at the New Palace. Although he was initially wary of accepting the invitation, when he finally arrived at the palace, he was pleasantly surprised by the welcome that he received.
“I soon felt entirely at ease with this lady,” he wrote. “Her simplicity, the kind manner in which she met me, and her keen bright intellect made me forget all differences of social position.”[154]
Despite their twenty-five year age difference, Alice sensed that she had found a like-minded friend, and, according to the gossipy French Ambassador, Maurice Paléologue, Strauss ‘at once obtained a great influence over her’. He became a regular visitor to her home, where over the next few years they spent many hours discussing philosophy and religion. Their views were so compatible that when Strauss decided to write a biography of Voltaire, he asked if he might dedicate it to Alice. Soon afterwards, however, fearing that her reputation could be damaged by such an association, he considered withdrawing the dedication and was greatly moved when Alice replied that ‘the fear of being misunderstood would never prevent her from doing what was right’.
By now, Strauss had also returned to his theological writings and, though some of his beliefs differed from Alice’s, their discussions provided the stimulation she had craved and enabled her to clarify her own unorthodox opinions. Not since the evenings spent with her father had she been able to absorb herself in conversation with a man who thoroughly understood her and, while their meetings were perfectly innocent and took place with Louis’ approval, she believed she had found the soul-mat
e for whom she had been seeking.
“But,” wrote Maurice Paléologue, “the romance of their minds and hearts was still wrapped in a deep mystery, though it is impossible to doubt that he shook her faith to the depths and that she passed through a terrible crisis.”[155]
The ‘terrible crisis’, in fact, owed more to a personal tragedy than to conversations with Strauss, for events would soon unfold which would plunge her into such despair that her only recourse was to abandon her spiritual seeking to cling to the faith of her childhood.
Chapter 17 – This Too Horrid War
At the height of Alice’s involvement with Strauss, the Grand Duchy became embroiled in another bitter war. Since the triumph of 1866, Bismarck had been working towards creating a unified Germany, and his surest means of bringing the states together was to unite them against a common enemy. The antipathy between the French and the Prussians, which had continued since the days of Napoleon, made France the ideal foe, and, what was more, a war would provide Prussia with a chance to seize the disputed French territories of Alsace and Lorraine.
In order to gain support from the rest of Europe, Bismarck had to create the impression that the French were the aggressors, and so for four years he waited for an opportunity to provoke them into making the first move. That opportunity arose in the summer of 1870, when foreign princes were being put forward as candidates for the vacant Spanish throne.
Some years earlier, a revolution in Spain had led to the abdication of the unpopular Queen Isabella, and, as the Spaniards had grown disillusioned by the old regime, they hoped to establish a new dynasty. Various foreign princes were suggested but when the throne was offered to the German Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, the French were horrified. A ‘Prussian’ king would not only put an end to French influence in Spain but would also pose a threat to France’s southern border.
Already alarmed by Bismarck’s designs on Alsace and Lorraine, Emperor Napoleon III sent an emissary to Vicky’s father-in-law, King Wilhelm I of Prussia, at the spa town of Ems, demanding that Prince Leopold’s name be withdrawn. On Bismarck’s advice, the King agreed but, shortly afterwards, he was again approached by the French Ambassador who had been instructed to obtain an assurance that no other German candidate would be put forwards. The King, not wishing to provoke a war, responded politely and gave Bismarck permission to publish an account of the meeting. Seizing his chance, the Chancellor doctored the official record, creating the impression that King Wilhelm had refused to yield to French threats and had treated the Ambassador with contempt. As the account was circulated throughout Europe, the French were so incensed by the perceived insult that Napoleon III saw no alternative but to make a declaration of war.
Exactly as Bismarck had planned, the German states rose up in self-righteous unison against the French aggressors and, in the wave of indignation that followed, Vicky and Alice were caught up in the patriotic fervour. ‘The conduct of the French was perfectly monstrous,’[156] Vicky told the Queen; and, as Louis departed with the army, Alice wrote:
“…The provocation of a war such as this is a crime that will have to be answered for, and for which there is no justification…there is a feeling of unity and standing by each other, forgetting all party quarrels, which makes one proud of the name of German.”[157]
No matter how just the cause appeared to be, war once again placed a terrible strain upon Alice. Six months pregnant, and anxious that Louis’ small division would be exposed to the fiercest fighting, she immediately set to work readying hospitals to receive the wounded. Fortunately, this time, she and Vicky were able to work together in organising medical relief. Moreover, Hesse-Darmstadt was better prepared than it had been in 1866, thanks largely to Alice’s foresight in establishing the ‘Ladies Union’ to provide trained nurses of all classes, who would serve in short-staffed hospitals in peacetime, and be available to attend the wounded in time of war.
As the Ladies Union went into action, Alice established four base hospitals, which she visited daily, often taking her elder daughters with her to assist in rolling bandages and talking with the patients. When the hospitals became overcrowded, Alice personally nursed the soldiers within her own home, tending not only the wounded but also those suffering from disease. Typhoid was once again rife; and despite her advanced pregnancy, Alice was seen fearlessly lifting a soldier who was suffering from smallpox.
Being so close to ‘the seat of war’, there was a strong possibility that Darmstadt would be invaded, and several times Vicky pleaded with Alice to leave the Grand Duchy for the safety of Berlin, where the Prussian King had offered her the use of a palace. Committed to her work, however, she refused to abandon the Grand Duchy:
“Now is a moment when a panic might overcome the people;” she told the Queen, “and I think it is my duty to remain at my post, as it gives the people courage and confidence.”[158]
Unfortunately, rather than being encouraged by her presence, the people were sceptical of Alice’s concern for the welfare of twelve hundred French prisoners-of-war who had been housed in the grounds of the New Palace; and, as German losses increased, rumours, fuelled by Vicky’s archenemy, Bismarck, began to circulate that ‘the English princesses’ were secretly working for the enemy.[t]
Britain’s neutrality and inaction had already sparked resentment in the German states. While pleading with her mother to send troops to support the Prussians, Vicky explained that:
“The feeling is very general here that England would have had it in her power to prevent this awful war, had she in concert with Russia, Austria and Italy, declared she would take arms against the aggressor, and that her neutrality afforded France advantages and us disadvantages. France can buy English horses as her ships can reach England, whereas ours cannot on account of the French fleet.”[159]
When it was discovered that the British were profiting not only from the sale of horses but also by providing coal for French ships and shells for French guns, the reaction was so violent that the English were ‘more hated than the French’ and the brunt of the German anger was aimed at Vicky and Alice. Feelings ran so high that when Vicky attempted to improve the hospitals in Berlin and Potsdam, her help was ‘contemptuously rejected’ and word soon spread that she and Alice were passing military secrets to their mother, who was, in turn, warning the French in advance of the German plans.
Despite the criticism, exhaustion and her advanced pregnancy, Alice continued to work for the wounded, visiting up to four hospitals a day and spending hours at the bedside of the dying. As ever in war time, diseases spread rapidly, creating such an unhealthy environment that the prospect of her forthcoming confinement was frightening:
“It is unhealthy at any time for one’s confinement in a town full of hospitals with wounded…” she told the Queen, “and, should I be very ill, there is no authority to say anything about what should be done.”[160]
It was hardly reassuring to hear from her trusted doctor, Weber, that his sister had just died of puerperal fever, which he feared he had given her ‘from going to and fro to his wounded’; and by the end of September, Alice felt it necessary to forego her hospital visits.
On 7th October, her anxieties were alleviated when she gave birth to a premature baby, Frittie – a ‘fat, pink’ little boy with ‘pretty features,’ who appeared to be perfectly healthy. After only the briefest convalescence, she returned to her duties for a further six weeks before finally accepting Vicky’s offer of a brief respite in Berlin at the beginning of December.
“It is a great comfort to be with dear Vicky,” she wrote to Queen Victoria. “We spend the evenings alone together, talking or writing letters.”[161]
For three more months the war continued until the French Emperor was forced to flee in disgrace and the triumphant German armies marched on to Paris. Even at the moment of an imminent victory, antipathy towards the English princesses, and more particularly towards Vicky, resurfaced. As Fritz army approached the French capital it was widely hope
d that he would avenge the German losses by completely destroying the city. To Vicky’s relief, Fritz saw no need for such blatant aggression and refused to be swayed by the opinion of those ‘gentlemen sitting at home in comfortable cosy rooms,’ Nonetheless, Vicky took the blame for his hesitation, as he recorded in his diary:
“In Berlin it is now the order of the day to vilify my wife as being mainly responsible for the postponement of the bombardment of Paris and to accuse her of acting under the direction of the Queen of England; all this exasperates me beyond measure.”[162]
By March 1871, the war was over and, as Bismarck’s plan reached fruition in the unification of Germany, Fritz’s father was elevated from King of Prussia to German Emperor in a lavish ceremony in the Palace of Versailles.
The victorious armies returned home to a hero’s welcome. Louis, whom Alice had not seen for seven months, and whose gallantry had earned him the Order Pour la Mérite, arrived in Darmstadt to find the streets decorated with lights and banners.
“Our house will also be illuminated,” Alice told the Queen, “and I take the two eldest girls out with me to see it all. It is a thing for them never to forget, this great and glorious though too horrid war.”[163]
In gratitude for his commitment and service, Louis’ regiment presented him with a portrait of the victory at Gravelotte.
The conclusion of the Franco-Prussian War and the resultant German Unification heralded a forty-year period of peace and prosperity for the new nation. For Alice, too, life returned to a steadier pace, enabling her to concentrate on raising her growing family and furthering her charities. After all the stresses of the previous months, the spring and summer of 1871 brought a series of happy visits from her relations; and, in June, she and Louis participated in the great victory parade in Berlin, before taking their family on recuperative holiday to the seaside at Blankenberghe in Belgium.
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