As the rumours continued unabated, the Queen seized every opportunity to cast a concerned eye over her precious granddaughter. When they met for a christening in Darmstadt in 1885, she observed that Ella and Serge seemed happy together but Ella had become particularly pale and thin. Two years later, when Ella arrived in London for the Golden Jubilee celebrations, she was totally unprepared for the grilling she was about to receive. It was humiliating enough to hear the rumours and ‘disgusting lies’ that circulated through St. Petersburg, but mortifying to discover that the most intimate details of her marriage were being discussed as far away as Windsor. Deeply embarrassed by the Queen’s probing questions she could only reply with increasing desperation:
“All I can repeat is that I am perfectly happy.”
Ella’s heartfelt protestations were sincere. She loved Serge enough to endure a possibly celibate marriage, but with each passing year the pain of her childlessness became harder to bear. Ella loved children and longed for a child of her own. During a visit to Ilinskoe in 1886, her aunt (and sister-in-law), Marie of Edinburgh, noticed how readily she spoiled her eight-year-old cousin, Sandra, and she could not have been more thrilled to hear of the birth of her first niece, Alice. In Russia, too, she delighted in the company of her friends’ children, whom she frequently entertained by hiding gifts and sweets for them to seek out in the rooms of her palaces. Among the many charitable organisations that she patronised, the dearest to her heart was the Elizabethan Society, which she had established to take care of orphans and neglected children. If, in the early years of her marriage, she entertained the forlorn hope that eventually something would change and she might have a child of her own, with each passing season her optimism gradually faded.
For an intelligent and well-educated woman dogged by scandalous rumours, the trivial hours in the ballroom soon lost their appeal. Ella had been raised to a life of service and duty but now she was little more than a beautiful ornament to a husband who showed her scant physical affection and denied her any say in the decisions affecting her life. Had she sought them, the beautiful and charming Grand Duchess would have had no shortage of lovers in the infamously decadent Russian court, but, believing that vows made before God were binding for life, Ella could not contemplate infidelity. Instead, like her mother before her, she devoted herself to her charities and, with ever greater fervency, to her religion[·].
Although tales of Serge’s perversions and sadism continued until his death and beyond, Ella never spoke so much as one word of criticism against him. In the unlikely event that the rumours of his homosexuality were true, she accepted the situation without complaint or self-pity and remained convinced that he loved her. In that, at least, she found the comfort that was denied to one of her cousins, for out of all Queen Victoria’s granddaughters none suffered greater humiliation at the hands of her husband than the desperately unlucky Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein.
Chapter 17 – Tell My Granddaughter To Come Home To Me
Christians
Lenchen & Christian: Queen Victoria’s third daughter and her husband
Marie Louise: Princess Aribert of Anhalt; younger daughter of Lenchen & Christian
Hohenzollerns (Prussians)
Willy: Kaiser Wilhelm II; eldest son of Queen Victoria’s daughter, Vicky.
‘Poor dear Lenchen,’ dependent on laudanum and placebos, had never found life easy but her nerves were strained to the limit in the summer of 1900 when an alarming telegram arrived at Cumberland Lodge. The message tersely informed her that her daughter, Marie Louise, must return at once to the little German Duchy of Anhalt to face divorce proceedings. According to the message, her husband found life with her ‘intolerable’ and, since she had ‘neglected her marital duties’ and the marriage had never been consummated, her father-in-law, the Duke of Anhalt, intended to declare it null and void.
Reeling with shock, a frantic Lenchen rushed to Windsor Castle to bear the dreadful tidings to the Queen. Divorce under any circumstances was a scandal that Queen Victoria could not countenance and yet, in this case, knowing the full facts, the Queen had nothing but sympathy for her maligned granddaughter.
Ten years earlier, eighteen-year-old Marie Louise was living a sheltered existence in Cumberland Lodge, interspersed with frequent trips to German spas with her mother. Fair, slim and graceful with striking blue eyes, the princess had already attracted the unwelcome attention of Crown Prince Ferdinand of Roumania, but it was the dashing Prince Aribert of Anhalt-Dessau who caught her eye when she arrived in Berlin for Cousin Moretta’s wedding. Bored by the interminable torch dance and flattered by Aribert’s attention, Marie Louise was instantly infatuated.
“He was very tall and good-looking, and a very striking personality,” she recalled, “and I suppose to a young girl of eighteen, he was the beau ideal of a cavalry officer. I have no hesitation in saying that I fell completely under his charm – in others words, fell in love. He paid me a good deal of attention which both flattered and bewildered me.”[100]
Her cousin, the Kaiser, was quick to encourage the romance and, bewildered or not, then and there Marie Louise decided that this was the man she would marry. Within a week of their meeting, Vicky was writing to the Queen in favour of the match.
Though Queen Victoria was disconcerted at the speed of events, Marie Louise’s parents approved of Aribert and on ‘a very cold snowy day’ in December 1890 the couple were engaged at Cousin Willy’s home in Potsdam. From there they made the three-hour journey to Anhalt where a nervous Marie Louise was to be formally introduced to Aribert’s family.
The following month, Queen Victoria invited Aribert to visit Osborne for the obligatory inspection of future grandsons and found him entirely suitable. English journalists, however, were less convinced. Even before his arrival, newspapers hinted that there was something ‘not quite right’ about the ‘youthful lover’ but Marie Louise was enraptured and the family agreed that the extremely good-looking young man would make an ideal husband. With the Queen’s blessing, plans were made for a July wedding at St. George’s Chapel at Windsor.
The celebrations coincided with a state visit from the Kaiser who, proud of his part in bringing the couple together, was eager to attend the service. When the ceremonials were over, the bride and groom drove in an open carriage through the streets of Windsor, where crowds of Eton schoolboys, who had been given a day off in honour of the occasion, gave them a warm reception. The set out for a honeymoon in Cliveden in Buckinghamshire, and spent a further ten days in Marie Louise’s childhood home, Cumberland Lodge, before embarking on a tour of Holland. In the autumn, Prince Aribert took his wife home to the quaint sleepy town of Dessau in eastern Germany.
For all her youth and naïveté, it did not take Marie Louise long to discern that her husband was not quite the ‘nice amiable young man’ of Aunt Vicky’s imagination. It soon became clear that, as a serving officer in the German Cavalry, Aribert much preferred the company of his fellow soldiers to that of his wife. Abandoned to her own devices in the medieval atmosphere of Dessau, Marie Louise came to the sad and humiliating realisation that her handsome husband had married her solely to conceal his homosexuality and protect his reputation.
Marie Louise had undoubtedly heard the rumours surrounding Cousin Ella’s marriage but at least Ella had the consolation of knowing that, in spite of his difficult nature, her husband loved her. Ella had enjoyed many splendid hours in the glittering ballrooms of St. Petersburg and won the affection of her husband’s people, but Marie Louise, denied even that solace, found herself isolated and trapped by the thousand rules that governed the lives of princesses in Anhalt.
Every aspect of her existence was organised according to an ancient code of etiquette that had been in existence for centuries. She was not permitted to leave her rooms without the prerequisite number of attendants and, as she quickly discovered, if she dared to flout the rules there was always someone on hand to reprimand her. On one occasion, Willy’s wife, the Empre
ss Dona, was appalled to hear that Marie Louise had dared to venture out in an ordinary cab, unaccompanied by footmen and pages.
Marie Louise might have endured her husband’s predilection for young men had he shown her the least consideration but Aribert not only preferred his male friends but made it clear that he resented her being there at all:
“I was not wanted, my presence was irksome to him, and we were two complete strangers living under the same roof. We occasionally met at meals and when we had guests, otherwise days might pass without our even seeing each other – and from the enthusiastic girl of eighteen, I became a disillusioned woman.”[101]
Drawing on her cigarettes, the unhappy princess sought escape from Anhalt whenever possible. She paid regular visits to Aunt Vicky and her circle of interesting artists and intellectuals in Berlin, and, taking advantage of Aribert’s apathy, indulged her lifelong love of travel in a series of tours. She visited Italy with her brother and Cousin Charlotte, before journeying further afield to meet with the Roman Catholic White Fathers in their African mission.
Her husband, meanwhile, squandered her dowry, sold her jewels and made her life so unpalatable that Marie Louise, disheartened and alone, fell ill.
As usual, the observant Queen Victoria was among the first to detect that something was amiss and in June 1898 she invited her granddaughter to England, where she observed how weak she had become. After eight years of a sham marriage, Marie Louise’s spirits were sinking rapidly. She remained with her grandmother at Osborne throughout the summer, enjoying visits from Cousin Sophie and Tino of Greece. On the 12th August, she celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday on the Isle of Wight in the company of her sister, Thora, and her uncle and aunt, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, receiving telegrams from her Wales cousins, who were staying aboard the Royal Yacht Osborne.
The peaceful respite in comfortable and familiar surroundings made Marie Louise’s return to the gloom of Dessau all the more depressing, and the outbreak of the South African War intensified her unhappiness. The strength of anti-British feeling in Germany made life unbearable for an English princess, particularly one whose brother was serving with the Queen’s forces.
Weary with the façade of her marriage and desperate to escape from Anhalt, Marie Louise, with Queen Victoria’s encouragement, asked her husband’s permission to take an extended break in America. Aribert, scarcely aware of her absence, was more than happy to agree.
For several weeks in the spring of 1900, she toured the United States and Canada, thoroughly enjoying the visit until the telegram from Anhalt brought an abrupt end to her holiday. To her horror, her father-in-law was summoning her back to Dessau. The same day, her parents received the letter informing them of Aribert’s intentions to divorce her.
Queen Victoria, utterly indignant and appalled at Marie Louise’s ‘cruel treatment,’ immediately dispatched a telegram to Lord Minto, the Governor of Canada: ‘Tell my granddaughter to come home to me. V.R.’
After a gruelling and anxious sea crossing, Marie Louise returned to the solace of Cumberland Lodge where her bewildered parents and sister, Thora, were anxiously waiting to meet her. As a horrified Marie Louise listened to the list of ‘obscene’ charges that her husband levelled against her, her humiliation was absolute and she could only take comfort in the knowledge that ‘there was one accusation which my husband did not bring against me, because he could not, and that was the charge of infidelity.’[102]
Only later did the princess learn the true reason for the urgent summons. In her absence, Aribert had been caught in flagrante delicto with a homosexual lover. To avoid bringing scandal on the family, his father demanded an immediate annulment of the marriage, laying the blame for its non-consummation squarely at his wife’s feet. Rather than facing a prolonged and humiliating court battle, the Christians agreed to an annulment, and Marie Louise, though deeply distressed by the outcome, was finally released from a life that had brought nothing but disappointment and unhappiness.
She returned to her family and, having acquired rooms for herself in London, established a small studio where she made jewellery. Most of her time, however, was devoted to numerous charitable foundations, including the ‘Princess Club’ to assist the impoverished factory workers of Rotherhithe; centres for homeless people and former prisoners; and those connected with her mother’s nursing foundations. Like Aunt Alice and her Hessian cousins, Marie Louise was often to be found in the homes of the poor, learning about lives which were very different from her own, and attempting to alleviate their suffering.
In spite of all she had suffered, Marie Louise shared Ella’s belief that vows made before God were binding for life. She never saw her husband again but continued to wear her wedding ring and always considered herself a married woman.
“The reason I have never married again,” she wrote towards the end of her life, “is because my marriage was according to the Church of England with its solemn and binding vows, and no arbitrary local family law could absolve me from these marriage vows.”[103]
It was hardly likely that her passionate Edinburgh cousins, Missy and Ducky, would resign themselves so patiently to life with unfaithful husbands.
Chapter 18 – A Mere Child & Quite Inexperienced.
Edinburghs
Affie (Alfred): Queen Victoria’s second son; Duke Duchess of Edinburgh and Coburg
Marie: Affie’s wife
Missy (Marie): Eldest daughter of Affie & Marie
Hohenzollerns (Prussians)
Charlotte: Princess of Saxe-Meiningen; eldest daughter of Vicky
Roumanians
Ferdinand (Nando): Heir to King Carol of Roumania
Carol: King of Roumania
Elizabeth (‘Carmen Sylva’): Queen of Roumania
In June 1892, members of Queen Victoria’s household were shocked to read a newspaper announcement of the engagement of sixteen-year-old Missy of Edinburgh to the twenty-six-year old heir to the throne of Roumania. For some months there had been much speculation about the young princess’s future; her name had already been linked with several continental princes, including ‘the odious Gunther,’ brother of the German Empress Dona, and by the summer of 1892 the Prince and Princess of Wales were under the definite impression that Missy was on the verge of accepting their son, George’s proposal of marriage. The sudden announcement of her engagement brought a swift and unexpected end to all speculation.
“It seems to have come very rapidly to a climax,” wrote a stunned Queen Victoria, “The country is very insecure, the Society dreadful & she is a mere Child & quite inexperienced.[”][104]
The Prince and Princess of Wales were incensed that George had been snubbed but, when they berated Missy’s father for his part in settling the affair, they soon discovered that he had had no say whatsoever in the matter. His wife, the Anglophobic Duchess of Edinburgh, had engineered and arranged everything without so much as consulting her husband. Her own unhappy marriage to unfaithful Affie, left the Duchess with a very low opinion of English princes and, determined to keep Missy from the overbearing influence of her grandmother, she had long ago decided that her daughter should marry a German.
Ferdinand of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, a German-born cousin of the Prussian Imperial family, suited the Duchess’ purpose in every respect. Unassuming to the point of dullness, he was living a lonely existence in Bucharest as heir to his uncle, the childless King Carol of Roumania, where, according to Vicky, he was popular and behaved very well.
The Duchess had little doubt that her sparkling daughter, ten years his junior, would make an instant impression on the shy young man and arranged a meeting at the home of their mutual cousin, Charlotte of Prussia.
The first encounter was unpromising. Unaware of what was expected of her, Missy paid little attention to the prince, who concealed his nervousness by laughing and seemed far more engrossed in the scintillating conversation of the more sophisticated Charlotte. The Duchess refused to give up hope and immediately arranged a f
urther meeting in Munich. Now, in a more romantic setting, Missy, uninhibited by Cousin Charlotte, found the opportunity to shine. Munich was, as she later recalled:
“…the town of towns for this sort of thing…We were both young, there was love in the air, it was springtime and Mamma had a happy, expectant face.”[105]
By the time they met again that summer at Cousin Willy’s Potsdam palace, the brief courtship culminated in the prince’s proposal. Eager to please her mother, Missy accepted him. While the Duchess rejoiced, the Kaiser gave a banquet in their honour, and Missy could only imagine what future awaited her.
If Queen Victoria was stunned by the news, her court was horrified. Apart from Missy’s youth, stories of the strange goings-on in Bucharest, made the prospect of sending the innocent girl to Roumania appear even more unsavoury.
Ferdinand’s aunt, Queen Elizabeth, was a somewhat eccentric figure who, writing under the pseudonym, Carmen Sylva, had earned a considerable reputation as an author. She surrounded herself with Bohemian friends who shared her literary tastes, among them a young poetess named Hélène Vavarescu. So alarmed was King Carol by his wife’s extreme attachment to the mystical Hélène, that he had exiled the Queen from court and sent her back to her mother, the Princess of Wied.
Queen Victoria's Granddaughters 1860-1918 Page 16