In mid-September, reinvigorated by the sea air, they moved on to Balmoral where the Queen was suffering from rheumatic gout, and Alice was called upon to employ all her nursing skills to alleviate her pain. Two months later, her nursing skills would once again be called upon – this time on behalf of her favourite brother, Bertie.
In November 1871, the Hessians travelled from the remote wilds of Balmoral to the hub of the ‘fast set’ at Sandringham House – the Norfolk home of the Prince and Princess of Wales. The lack of ‘Society’ in Darmstadt made the visit more exciting for Alice, as the ‘charming hosts’ were renowned for their wonderful parties and the fascinating and varied characters they invited to their home.
Alice had always been close to her elder brother, but now they had something more than a shared childhood in common. Albeit for very different reasons, both had earned their mother’s disapproval, and, just as had happened during their childhood, it frequently fell to Alice to plead Bertie’s cause.
Still unable to forget the youthful misdemeanour which, she believed, had precipitated his father’s death, Queen Victoria continued to view Bertie as too unreliable to be involved in affairs of state and consequently denied him any meaningful role whatsoever. In her lifetime and ever since, this intransigence earned her a good deal of criticism and earned her son a good deal of sympathy, but it cannot be denied that she had good reason for her obduracy.
In the years since the Prince Consort’s death, Bertie had done little to regain her trust, and the contrast between his and his father’s behaviour had become more glaring than ever. When, in the immediate months following their marriage, the Queen had denied Prince Albert any significant role, he had occupied his time fruitfully by reorganising the palaces and learning all he could about the system of government in England. Bertie, on the other hand, blaming his mother for his own lack of motivation, embarked on a sybaritic lifestyle of gluttonising, gambling and mixing with ‘unsuitable’ characters, with whom he spoke so freely that, even years later, Queen Victoria warned one of her granddaughters to be careful what she divulged to him since ‘uncle can’t keep anything to himself.’ His beautiful wife could not satisfy his desire for the company of beautiful women, and, between his regular visits to the brothels of Paris, he indulged in numerous affairs so blatantly that Queen Victoria confessed that she pitied Alexandra, who suffered his infidelities in silence.
His wife might have been prepared to accept Bertie’s philandering but the public was not so forgiving. In 1867, Alexandra contracted rheumatic fever while recovering from the birth of her third child, but, while the public followed the accounts of progress with consternation, Bertie cheerfully remained at the Windsor Races, and even when he was finally pressurised into returning home, he continued to entertain his rowdy friends while his wife lay on her sickbed upstairs. Disgusted by his neglect of the popular Princess, audiences hissed him in the theatre and jeered at him in the street, but this was only the start of the decline in his reputation. Two years later his involvement in the infamous Mordaunt Case created a scandal which spread through the courts of Europe.
Bertie had been a regular visitor to the London home of the Conservative peer, Sir Charles Mordaunt, whose flirtatious young wife, Harriet, he had known since her childhood. She had been a regular guest at the Marlborough House parties, and, though Bertie always denied that they were lovers, he had written her a series of compromising letters and was known to have sent her gifts and visited her while her husband was away. On one occasion, Sir Charles returned unexpectedly from a fishing trip and was so incensed to find Harriet and Bertie together that he forced his wife to watch while he shot dead two beautiful white ponies, which she had purchased from the Sandringham estate.
In February 1869, Harriet gave birth to a daughter and, in the throes of post-natal depression, confessed to her husband that he was not the father of her baby before providing him with a list of her lovers, including the Prince of Wales. Sir Charles initiated divorce proceedings and, when the case went to court, Bertie was called as a witness. Under cross-examination, he acquitted himself well and firmly denied any impropriety so convincingly that even Queen Victoria was convinced of his innocence.
‘His name ought never to have been dragged through the dirt or mixed up with such people,’ she wrote, before adding, somewhat amusingly in the light of his well-documented relationships with other women, ‘He did not know more of, or admire, the unfortunate, crazy Lady Mordaunt more than he does or did other ladies.’
Nonetheless, his reputation had been seriously damaged and, when Harriet’s family declared her insane and had her committed to the Chiswick Asylum, it was widely believed that she had been silenced to protect the reputation of the Prince and the monarchy. Even as far away as Prussia, Bertie was viewed with contempt as a perjurer and adulterer, and, by the time of Alice’s visit in autumn 1871, he had become so unpopular with the British public that it would take a near-fatal illness for him to regain their affection.
Shortly before Alice and her family arrived at Sandringham, Bertie had returned from Scarborough, where, while staying at the home of Lady Londesborough, he and several other guests had contracted typhoid. It would take several weeks for the symptoms to manifest and it was not until late November that he was diagnosed with a ‘mild’ fever. Although not unduly alarmed, Queen Victoria dispatched her doctors, William Jenner and William Gull, to Sandringham and over the next few days she was relieved to receive their favourable reports. By the end of the month, however, Bertie’s symptoms had worsened, and even though the doctors assured the Queen that his life was not in danger, Alice, who was in constant attendance, feared the worst. To compound her anxieties, all her children and all their Wales cousins succumbed to a whooping cough epidemic and had to be quarantined in the nurseries of Buckingham Palace, while their mothers remained at Bertie’s bedside in Norfolk.
As the tenth anniversary of her father’s death approached, it appeared as though history were about to repeat itself, and Alice anxiously sent a telegram to the Queen, warning her that Bertie was seriously ill. Within days, the Queen arrived at Sandringham where, all past disagreements forgotten, she nervously sought to reassure herself that her ‘beloved child’ would recover.
Night and day, Alice remained with Alexandra at Bertie’s side as he became increasingly delirious and short of breath, but her ministrations appeared to be of no avail. By 11th December the doctors were convinced that he was dying and reluctantly informed the Queen that the Prince of Wales was unlikely to survive the night.
“In those heart-rending moments,” Queen Victoria wrote in her journal, “I scarcely knew how to pray aright, only asking God, if possible, to spare my beloved child.”
By the ‘terrible 14th’ the end was imminent and the gloom which had filled Windsor Castle a decade earlier now seeped into the glittering world of Sandringham House. Alice, steeling herself for the inevitable, undoubtedly spent the day reliving the painful scenes at her father’s deathbed, when suddenly, unexpectedly, the fever passed and towards evening Bertie began to revive.
Although his recovery was slow and debilitating, a surge of rejoicing swept through the country. Bertie’s transgressions were forgotten and when he was finally well enough to appear in public, he was greeted by enthusiastic applause. The Queen emerged from her seclusion to attend a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, and later that day she appeared on the balcony of Buckingham Palace for the first time since the death of the Prince Consort.
Chapter 18 –
This Mad, Wicked Folly of Women’s Rights
Revitalised by her travels and relieved by Bertie’s recovery, Alice returned to Darmstadt in January 1872, filled with plans for further improvements to the standard of nursing in Hesse. Although pregnant with her sixth child, she was eager to make use of the experience she had gained in two wars and the studies she had made of English hospitals, where she had inspected every department from the wards to the kitchens.
Since the Austro-Prussian War, she had also maintained a correspondence with Florence Nightingale, whose impact on nurse training was still at its height, and whose designs for light, airy wards were providing the basis for the new infirmaries which were springing up across Britain. Alice hoped to apply the same designs to German hospitals and also recognised that it would be beneficial for her own nurses to undergo a period of training in England. Miss Nightingale readily agreed to this suggestion and, although she refused to shorten the length of the training as Alice had requested, a group of young German women were soon admitted to the School of Nursing at St Thomas’ Hospital in London.
While the care of the sick was of major interest to Alice, her plans were not solely confined to improvements in nursing. In 1872, the welfare of orphans came to her attention, as many poor children were being neglected or abused by those who had been appointed to care for them. In Germany as in England it was often the case that poor children were taken in by unscrupulous factory owners, farmers or tradesmen, who received payment from the parish for their upkeep on the understanding that they would teach them a trade. In fact, many of the children were treated as nothing but unpaid workers, who were subjected to neglect and beatings from their masters. Alice not only founded a new orphanage but also became involved in a scheme to inspect the homes to which these children had been sent to ensure that they were being well-treated and provided with an appropriate education. As ever, she was not content merely to administrate such a scheme without becoming actively involved. Theodore Martin described a cold winter night when she ventured into a house to find two little girls:
“Hungry, chilled to the heart, they were sitting in an empty attic; their parents were dead, and they ate among strangers bread that was hard and grudgingly given, when that great lady appeared…From her, whose heart was ever yearning to the orphan’s cry, they heard again, for the first time, gentle, loving words; by her provision was quickly made for their more kindly treatment.”[164]
After Alice’s death, those two little girls were seen placing small bunches of violets on her coffin.
As her schemes for social improvements expanded, she was keen to learn as much as possible from the pioneers who were already working in various fields. Corresponding regularly with some of the most forward-thinking philanthropists of the day, it occurred to her that the greatest good could be achieved if the different charitable institutions worked together in harmony. To facilitate this, in the summer of 1872, she organised a general assembly or ‘Congress of Women’, bringing together representative of all the charities in the region and beyond. Among the attendees were several prominent figures whose progressive ideas had earned the censure of governments and churches, but, just as Alice was happy to be associated with the controversial David Strauss, she had no qualms about making the acquaintance of these unorthodox women.
From Saxony came Marie Simon, who though less famous than Florence Nightingale, had made a major contribution to nursing in Germany. Having founded the Institution for Training Nurses in Dresden, she had played a major role in the Franco-Prussian War, directing the ‘Women’s Association for Relief in the Field.’ In spite of strong opposition from government authorities, who believed that women were unsuited to work at the front, she gained the support of Saxony’s Crown Princess Carola and, by her own strength of will, had not only succeeded in winning the hearts of the wounded but also had saved many lives.
“…By persistent effort, she wearied her judges, and was allowed to proceed to the battlefield with a small staff of picked female nurses. The poor soldiers soon learned to know and bless her; for the fame of Madame Simon quickly spread through the armies; and where she was, the dying men still hoped for life. The smiles of ‘Mother Simon,’ as they familiarly called her, were more cheering to many of them than many of a thousand consolations or remedies offered by others.”[165]
From England came Mary Carpenter, who had worked to improve the education of girls in India as well as in England, and had ventured into prisons to where she had ‘done such good works for the reformation of convicts’.[166] Also present were Florence Hill, (the niece of the reformer, Rowland Hill, who had instituted the penny-postage), who advocated the admission of women workers into the Post Office; and Catherine Winkworth, who had made her name by translating German hymns into English and was a pioneer of female education.
Despite having adopted different branches of social improvements, these four women were united in pressing for the right of girls to enter Higher Education and were firm advocates of women’s suffrage – a cause which Queen Victoria vehemently opposed.
Ironically, the Queen, who headed one of the most powerful empires in the world, considered the idea of women’s involvement in politics anathema. ‘Let women be what God intended, a helpmate for man, but with totally different duties and vocations,’ she had said; and in 1870, reflecting her own dependence on strong male protectors, she proclaimed that she was:
“…most anxious to enlist everyone who can speak or write to join in checking this mad, wicked folly of ‘Women's Rights’, with all its attendant horrors, on which her poor feeble sex is bent, forgetting every sense of womanly feelings and propriety. Feminists ought to get a good whipping. Were women to ‘unsex’ themselves by claiming equality with men, they would become the most hateful, heathen and disgusting of beings and would surely perish without male protection.”
For Alice and her like-minded philanthropists, however, personal and political freedom was essential for women not only because their talents were being wasted and their minds stifled, but also to enable them to protect their children and families. Far from wishing to ‘unsex’ women by encouraging them to imitate men, the early women’s rights campaigners sought to have women’s unique abilities respected whether they chose to pursue a career or to devote themselves to motherhood. Those who had worked among the poor had frequently witnessed the effect of laws which failed to protect young girls from unprincipled employers and denied them the right to care for their own children.
Through her work with the orphans of Hesse, Alice would certainly have witnessed what the English Suffragette leader, Emmeline Pankhurst, would later recall from her experience as a Poor Law Guardian:
“I found there were many pregnant women in the workhouse, scrubbing floors, doing the hardest kind of work, almost until their babies came into the world. Many of them were unmarried women, very, very young...mere girls. These poor mothers were allowed to stay in the hospital after their confinement for a short two weeks. Then they had to make a choice of staying in the workhouse and earning their living by scrubbing and other work, in which case they were separated from their babies; or they could be discharged. They could stay and be paupers or they could leave – leave with a two-week old baby in their arms, without hope, without a home, without money, without anywhere to go...”[167]
Mrs. Pankhurst also observed that the greatest number of illegitimate babies were born to servant girls who, being unable to support their children, had no choice but to hand them over to ‘baby farms’ so that they could return to work. The baby-farms, in which children frequently suffered neglect even to the point of death, were not subject to inspection because:
“…if a man who ruins a girl pays down a sum of £20, the boarding home is immune from inspection. As long as the baby farmer takes only one child at a time, the house cannot be inspected. Of course the babies die with hideous promptness, often long before the twenty pounds has been spent, and then baby farmers are free to solicit another victim. For years, as I have said, women have tried to get that one reform of the Poor Law to reach and protect all illegitimate children, and to make it impossible for any rich scoundrel to escape future liability for his child because of the lump sum he has paid. Over and over again it has been tried, but it has always failed because the ones who really care about such things are women.”[168]
Apart from the inherent injustice of denying women any say in how they were governed, it was f
or these reasons that the early suffragists demanded the vote. Alice, whose work with the poor had enabled her to see the effect of political inequality upon women and children, was willing to associate with these forward-thinking pioneers. Gladly, she listened to their speeches and, with the same disregard for public opinion with which she entertained Strauss, she unashamedly accompanied Mary Carpenter through the schools in Darmstadt.
Queen Victoria, somewhat alarmed by such associations, and probably searching for an ally, questioned whether Alice’s mother-in-law supported her idea of bringing these women together.
“Of course, she does,” Alice replied blithely. “We are so intimate together, that even where we differ in opinion we yet talk of everything freely, and her opinion is of the greatest value to me…She was much pleased and interested in the success of the meeting, but is of course as averse as myself to all extreme views on such subjects.”[169]
A month later, Alice boldly sent the Queen an article about the rights of women.
Never failing to practise what she preached, Alice ensured that her daughters were raised in a spirit of independence, which recognised their individuality rather than treating them as mere appendages to husbands, brothers or fathers. It was common practice among German royalties to view young princesses as nothing more than future wives and to educate them accordingly, but to Alice such an idea was ludicrous, particularly in an age when a number of outstanding women were making an impact in the worlds of literature, art, social reform and medicine. Alongside her correspondence with Florence Nightingale, Alice had spoken in person to the housing reformer, Octavia Hill[u], and she was undoubtedly aware of the struggles of Elizabeth Garrett Anderson. She was also familiar with the works of Charlotte Bronte, whose eponymous heroine, Jane Eyre, struggling to maintain her individuality when contemplating marriage to Mr Rochester, expressed Alice’s own views so succinctly:
Alice, The Enigma - A Biography of Queen Victoria's Daughter Page 19