We were not going to let our little girl go so young, though, this time. Albert said she could not be married for at least another year; and we decided, and the young people agreed, that after they were married they would spend half of every year in England. (The marriage was very happy and very successful, and the Hessians proved a good family, and provided us with two other good young men – Ludwig of Battenberg, first cousin to Alice’s Louis, who married her daughter Victoria, and his brother Henry, or Liko as we always called him, who married Baby.)
The only drawback to the House of Hesse was their strong Russian sympathies: Louis’ aunt Marie had married Tsar Alexander II (another of my girlhood suitors!). Later Louis and Alice’s daughter Elizabeth married Grand Duke Sergei of Russia, Marie of Hesse’s son – and so became aunt to her own sister, Alicky, when Alicky married Sergei’s nephew Nicky. (Nicky, in fact, used to call Alicky ‘Tetinka’, which means ‘little aunt’, when they first knew each other.) I seem to have been haunted by Russia all my life. Alix’s sister Dagmar married Tsar Alexander III, which makes another connection – and she is Nicky’s mother, so it’s no wonder that Nicky and Georgie look so much alike, being cousins on both sides. When Nicky was staying at Windsor once, Georgie’s valet went looking for him and coming upon Nicky was quite convinced he had found his master!
19th November 1900
HAD GENERAL Buller to dinner on Saturday, who let out some hints to one of my ladies that he thought Roberts was not the thing and was responsible for prolonging the war in South Africa. So I sent him a message that I would not have him discuss other generals in my presence, but that I should like to hear anything he had to say about dear Christl. At luncheon yesterday he talked most amusingly about liking his pint of champagne every day on campaign to his next neighbour, Lady Erroll, who is a fanatical supporter of Temperance. Thank God that I keep my sense of humour, if not my digestion!
In the autumn of 1860 we went on a visit to Coburg. Albert had taken into his mind a positive obsession to see the old place again; but also it was the only way we could get to see Vicky and Fritz and little Willy without a State visit being organised on one side or the other. Vicky had had a second child in July, much too soon after her dangerous first confinement, but all had gone well this time, and she had a daughter they had named Charlotte. Albert was as eager to see his darling daughter again as to see the dear old Rosenau, and so it was arranged we should all meet there. We took Alice with us, too, to give her her first taste of foreign travel.
Oh, the first moments of meeting were so overwhelming! My dear, sweet Vicky looked so pretty and womanly and well, and after embracing me she flung herself into Albert’s arms, and the two wept silently into each other’s necks, too overcome to speak. Kind Fritz, with a faint anxious frown which was becoming habitual to him between his brows, shook hands and said everything that was proper and cheerful, but we were both really watching Vicky; the moment came when she and Albert slowly disentangled themselves, and stood back in each other’s arms, just far enough to look at each other.
‘Papa?’ Vicky said, searching his face anxiously. ‘Are you well?’
‘Yes, my darling girl, of course I am,’ he said. ‘And you? Are you taking care of yourself? Are you getting plenty of fresh air? After what you’ve told me about the drains at the Palace, I am so glad to get you away from there, even for a short time.’
And Vicky was diverted from her question, and laughed, as he had meant her to. ‘Oh, Papa, what a thing to be your first question!’
‘Drains should always be one’s first question,’ he said, smiling, and released her. ‘Now I must let you kiss your sister, who is straining at the leash and thinking you’ve forgotten her.’
Vicky turned to kiss and hug Alice – the two were always devoted, and nothing was ever to come between them, not even when their respective countries were on opposite sides of a war. I looked at Albert. What had Vicky seen, that he had not wanted her to notice? Albert felt my regard, and met my eyes for a moment, and then turned his attention to Fritz, asking him about the political situation. There was something of embarrassment about the action, and I continued to study his averted face. He looked no different to me – but then I had been seeing him every day, and he always looked to me like my husband and my lover. Vicky, absent for so many months, had seen a change, and Albert knew it. I could not determine what it was.
But then we were disturbed, in the nicest way, by the entrance of good Mrs Hobbs (the English nurse Vicky had had brought over) holding the hand of our darling eldest grandchild. He came walking in, quite steady on his sturdy little legs, and smiling, and looking such a little love! He had on a little white dress with black bows, and looked as fine and fat a child as one could wish, with a beautiful soft white skin, and Fritz’s eyes and Vicky’s mouth, and very fair curly hair. He was very good all the time we were with him, and never stopped beaming at us, and he understood quite well who we were. His poor, cold, blue, useless arm I did not look at too closely, for I did not want Vicky to worry about it. Clark had told me it would come right in the end, so I wanted her to think I took it very much as a matter of course, and did not draw attention to it in any way.
We visited good old Stockmar while we were there, too, and found him quite himself, as vigorous in his mind as ever, but grown old, of course. Albert said he thought the old man in poor case. ‘I had not thought to see him so weak and ill,’ he said gloomily; but I said briskly that it was not surprising a man of seventy should have some frailties. ‘He seemed very well to me. You must remember that our good Baron was always inclined to exaggerate his aches and pains.’
Albert would not be convinced. ‘He can’t last much longer,’ he said. ‘We must accept that we may be seeing him for the last time.’ I saw he had got a Coburg Gloom upon him, and said no more. The next time we saw Stockmar, I looked at him very closely, and he did not seem to me in imminent danger of demise.
As it turned out, my darling was in more danger than his old teacher. About ten days after our arrival, Albert went over to Kalenberg to shoot, and Vicky, Alice and I joined him there for luncheon, taking our sketching-books, for there were some lovely views around the castle. A little later Albert said he must go back to Coburg to see some people on business, and Vicky and I, exchanging a rueful glance (for I had already complained to her about how over-devoted her papa was to business), said we would follow at our own pace.
We were walking down to the park gates, carrying our sketch-books, and laughing over the way a fresh-faced peasant woman had scolded Vicky for letting her dress trail on the ground and get dirty instead of looping it up, when a phaeton came bowling towards us, drawn by a very hot pair and driven by a coachman, with Colonel Ponsonby, Albert’s equerry, sitting in it. One glance at his face made my heart go cold. Vicky must have seen it too, for she reached at once for my arm and gripped it hard. ‘Wait, Mamma, wait and see,’ she said; but I heard the fear in her voice.
Ponsonby came striding towards us, his face pale. ‘Oh what is it?’ I cried before he had even reached us. ‘It is the Prince, I know it! Good God, tell me at once, Ponsonby! Don’t spare me!’
‘He is not hurt, he is not hurt,’ Ponsonby cried quickly. ‘He bade me tell you so at once – only a scratch on the nose, and the doctor says that’s of no consequence.’
‘What’s happened? There’s been an accident!’ I said. My heart was beating so hard now I thought I would faint. I could hear it fluttering in my head like a bird in a chimney. Ponsonby reached my side and looked as though he would take hold of my other arm. But Alice was there, calm, steady Alice.
‘There has been an accident to the carriage, but the Prince sent me to tell you about it, and to emphasise that he is not hurt, so that you will not be startled or frightened.’
If Albert had sent Ponsonby, he must not be in too bad a case. I took one or two deep breaths, and said, ‘Very well, Ponsonby, I am quite calm now. Tell me what happened.’
The story was this: Albe
rt was alone in the four-horse barouche when, about a mile from Coburg, the horses had taken fright and bolted. He did not know what had startled them, but when the coachman ceased to curse and began to pray aloud, he knew they were completely out of control. Up ahead the road crossed the railway line at a level crossing, and Albert saw that the bar was down to signal a train, and a waggon was drawn up in front of it, waiting. The speed of the horses had not slackened a whit, and seeing that collision was inevitable, Albert took his chance and jumped.
He hit the road and rolled over, and though bruised and shaken, with a cut across his nose and abrasions to his hands, knees and arms he was not seriously hurt. But he heard the terrible splintering crash and the scream of horses which told him that he had been right to jump. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his face, and limped towards the wreck. The coachman was badly hurt, and one of the horses was dead, killed by the impact; the others, struggling madly, managed to free themselves from the wreckage and went galloping off towards Coburg. By chance Ponsonby, who had been out driving in the phaeton, had seen them and recognised them, and had driven straight to the scene of the accident. A doctor, a local man, had already arrived at the scene by then, and Albert, who was helping him attend to the coachman, ordered Ponsonby to come straight to me.
Alice and I went back in the phaeton, Ponsonby taking the box seat beside the coachman. I forced myself to remain calm all the way home, and Alice, though naturally anxious, seemed to have taken her father’s words at their face value. But I could imagine the force of the fall my darling had had, jumping out of a carriage at full galloping speed, and I felt sick with fear. I had had many falls from horses and many carriage accidents in my time, but such things do not trouble me, any more than being shot at by madmen or finding my house on fire. My nerves are only affected when I cannot find out what is going on, when I am far from the scene and cannot act or help. But Albert was not like me. He was always badly shaken by accidents, even when he was young and supple. He had taken a fall while out hunting back in 1840, and though hardly scratched he had been very shaken and his nerves much disordered; and the same in 1841, when he had gone through the ice while skating. I had managed to pull him out almost at once, and we hurried him back to the house before he could catch cold; but the shock of the accident made him quite ill with nerves.
So when I saw him lying in his bed, with lint compresses on his nose, mouth and chin, I was not surprised to see his face white as milk and to feel how cold his hands were. He was rigid under the bedclothes, and trembled like a winter sparrow. I kissed his hand and pressed it to my cheek, and said how thankful I was that he was not much hurt. ‘God must have had you in His keeping,’ I said. I could not see his mouth under the bandages, but his eyes were fixed on mine with a look of weary appeal, like an animal in pain that hopes in its innocence you will make it stop. ‘Albert, it is nothing, isn’t it? You aren’t hiding anything from me?’
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘I am bruised and shaken, no more.’
The next morning he rose at seven, dressed, and was reading at his desk by the time I went to him. ‘You see,’ he said, smiling at me brightly, ‘I am perfectly well. A good night’s sleep was all I needed.’ His eyes were heavy with shadows, and the skin below them pouchy with lack of sleep. A good night’s sleep was all he needed, but had he had one? All day long he behaved normally, spoke cheerfully, took a lively interest in everything that went on around him; it was only when he thought no eyes were on him that he flagged, and the animation drained out of his face, leaving it with that dreadful look of depression and melancholy. But my eyes were always on him, and I saw, and inwardly cursed his stoicism for getting out of bed too soon and not taking sufficient rest. He did not want to alarm me; he did not want to waste any of his precious time with Vicky; he did not want to waste a moment of being in beloved Coburg. Like a condemned man he devoured these pleasures and kept up a cheerful flow of spirits for the sake of his visitors before the scaffold, and it angered me, both his being so upset by the fall and his pretending so hard he was not. They were both unnecessary, and between them they wore him out. I felt he was being melodramatic; and I felt he was pushing me away with his noble-under-suffering act, keeping me at arm’s length instead of admitting how poorly he felt and letting me comfort him.
But I pretended nothing was wrong. What else, after all, could I do?
Twenty
22nd November 1900, at Windsor
THE WEATHER remains clear, though wet, which is acceptable – I have never minded rain in the least, but fog is so depressing. I am feeling quite well in myself, though the least thing tires me, and consequently Reid frets me to behave like an invalid and lie on the sofa all day, which I cannot bear. Inactivity makes me frantic; and besides, there is so much to do and everything takes longer when I have to have things read to me instead of reading them myself. Baby does a great deal, and reads very nicely, but I fear she doesn’t really understand what she is reading, which sometimes makes it hard to follow. Lenchen understands more, but she reads rather too quick. Oh how different it was when my darling and I shared the work, when we sat side by side at our desks, and I had only to turn my head to find him! Was I ever so lucky as to be able to turn to him for every need and comfort? As I am now, all alone and walled up in this failing body, it seems like the most distant of wistful dreams.
*
The Christmas of 1860 was wonderful. We had crisp, snowy weather and glorious floods of sunshine, and the ponds froze. Albert, Alice and the boys all skated; Louis Hesse flung himself into a wild game of ice-hockey which I’m afraid must have left him black and blue; I stood watching with Leo and Baby, admiring Albert. He had a black velvet jacket on, which suited him so well, and his skates had swans on the upcurving toe ends of the blades, and he glided about so gracefully. I called out a warning to him not to go too near the end where the bulrushes grew, where the ice might not be thick enough, and Baby looked very interested and asked me, ‘Is they the bulrushes that Moses lived in?’ She had just learned the story.
Louis and Alice shared a present table for the first time, and Alice looked so blushful and conscious it was quite touching. Mamma joined us for luncheon, and the little children came down for dessert, and Baby climbed at once on to my darling’s knee and picked up his spoon and cast her greedy eyes about the table for the best thing. She lighted on a very rich iced pudding, and began to draw the plate towards her.
‘No, no, Baby mustn’t have that,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s not good for Baby.’
‘But she likes it, my dear,’ the naughty thing said calmly, digging in her spoon, and it was so very droll that we all began to laugh, which was probably very bad for her, but it was impossible to be angry with the funny little thing. After luncheon we played games and Albert romped and was so funny the children were almost sick with laughing. He did conjuring tricks for the little ones, and even Bertie watched wide-eyed. (I remembered the occasion when he was much younger and a world-famous magician had been brought in to entertain us; afterwards Bertie went across to him and said confidently, ‘My father understands all those tricks.’ He was perfectly sure his father knew everything in the world!) A little later Baby dragged Mamma to the piano and made her sing all her favourite songs. ‘I don’t know the name but it sounds like this,’ Baby would say, and sing the beginning of a song in a husky little voice – what Lady Augusta called her ‘pot-room voice’. She knew all the words, though she often got the tunes mixed up. Later when Arthur read aloud from the Bible the story of the Massacre of the Innocents, Baby took the book over and pretended to read. ‘Then the Naughty Men killed all the children,’ she pronounced importantly, ‘and the mothers cried wipperly.’
But after this happy time the New Year of 1861 began badly. As I have mentioned, the poor mad old King of Prussia (Fritz’s uncle) died on the 2nd of January and Fritz’s father became King, and all his reactionary tendencies were given free rein. This meant that endless bitter disputes broke out o
ver the projected unification of Germany, which caused Albert more worry and work, trying to help and advise Vicky as to what she could hope to achieve as the new Crown Princess of Prussia.
Then on the 29th of January there was a railway accident at Wimbledon, a crash between two trains, and by a horrid chance the only person killed was our Dr Baly, who fell through the floor of the carriage and was crushed by the wheels. He was a brilliant young physician who had only been with us a year, but Albert already had the greatest confidence in him. Baly had replaced my good old Clark, who had retired at seventy-three. Now we had to ask Clark to recommend us someone else. It was very upsetting and unsettling, particularly as Albert had begun the year with dreadful toothache which settled down into a constant, painful neuralgia of the upper part of the cheek, due to an inflammation of the nerves. Incision of the gum was tried, in case the imflammation was caused by poison, but there was no draining, and a second operation nine days later gave no relief either. Toothache is a dismal, miserable affliction, which thank God I am not prone to, and when you have it, you can think of nothing else. Albert was very much pulled down by it, and by the sleepless nights he passed, but he would not let up on his work, and at the height of the attack, when his poor glands were very much swollen, he insisted on going to a meeting at Trinity House about new lighthouses, and came back exhausted. It was not until the end of the month that Clark found us a replacement, a Dr William Jenner, who had been a friend of our poor excellent Baly. I liked Jenner’s calm, comfortable manner very much, and whether by chance or intervention, Albert’s trouble cleared up at last a few days later.
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