Dearest Vicky, Darling Fritz

by John Van der Kiste

  In the spring of 1855 Napoleon III and Eugenie, Emperor and Empress of the French, came to Windsor for a state visit, largely as a demonstration of solidarity between both countries during the Crimean war. Vicky was very shy of the Emperor on their first meeting, and the Queen noted in her journal, the fourteen-year-old girl ‘with very alarmed eyes making very low curtsies’.39 At a ball later that week she ‘danced with the Emperor, which frightened her very much’,40 but the Empress went out of her way to make friends with her and soon put her at her ease.

  A reciprocal visit was paid to Paris four months later, and Vicky and Bertie Prince of Wales, her eldest brother, were allowed to accompany their parents to the Palace of St Cloud. For Vicky it was the height of luxury; at home she had to share a bedroom with her sister Alice, but for a few days in Paris she had her own, amidst pictures and furniture that were the epitome of elegance and sophistication. She was dressed in style as well, for the Emperor knew that beside Empress Eugenie the dowdy Queen and her daughter might make a poor impression. Having found out that the Princess Royal had a lifesize doll, he obtained the measurements and had a number of dresses made and sent to London, addressed to Her Royal Highness’s doll. The subterfuge was seen through and gratefully accepted, and Vicky easily outshone her mother on their arrival in the French capital.

  At first the Queen was reluctant to let her attend the great ball in the Palace des Tuileries, but at the Empress’s request the children were allowed to join their hosts at supper. Vicky was equally flattered and embarrassed when the Emperor walked up to her after the meal, bowed, and asked her for a dance. Blushing deeply, she allowed him to escort her through the Salle des Glaces. It was a rite of passage which she would always remember with pleasure if a touch of embarrassment as well.

  She was spared a meeting with the Prussian ambassador to Paris, Otto von Bismarck, who was presented to her parents. Queen Victoria greeted him with civility if coldness, while Prince Albert, Bismarck later recalled, gave him the impression of ‘a certain illdisposed curiosity’ when they spoke together. It was the only time both men, who figured so strongly in the ultimate destiny of Vicky’s life, ever came face to face. Albert was well aware of the ambassador’s pro-Russian stance and anti-western Europe influence on the indecisive King Friedrich Wilhelm IV, and must have found it hard to conceal his displeasure.

  As Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and their two eldest children returned from Paris to Osborne in the last days of August 1855, the parents reflected on how their eldest child was maturing fast. As they made plans for their journey north to Balmoral, they also considered the next, and most crucial, stage of her future. Within a month, they knew, she would probably have made the most important decision of her life.

  *The picture unfolds beneath my feet.

  TWO

  ‘Two young, innocent things’

  Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and the family arrived at Balmoral on 7 September. A week later a rather nervous Fritz joined them, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, General Helmuth von Moltke. The latter was impressed at once by the homely atmosphere of the British court. It was hard to believe, he wrote to his wife, that the woman whom he called the most powerful monarch in the world could leave court life so much behind; ‘it is just plain family life here. . . . Nobody would guess that the Court of one of the most powerful estates resides here, and that from these mountains the fate of the world is decided.’ When introduced to the Queen, her husband, and their ladies and gentlemen in attendance, he could ‘well imagine that life here, proper family life, must be exceedingly agreeable and I regret having to depart tomorrow.’1

  To Fritz, the change in the Princess Royal since their first meeting was nothing short of amazing. At the age of fourteen, it was evident that Vicky was maturing into a beautiful woman. The combination of her childish roundness, awakening beauty, mercifully free of her mother’s plain looks at the same age, and unforced charm was irresistible. She and Fritz sat next to each other at dinner that first evening, chatting in French and German. It was impossible for her to keep her eyes off this handsome young suitor, still the same gentle unaffected friend she remembered from the first time. Albert and the Queen had already agreed that, had the two young people not given any sign of being attracted to each other, they would do nothing to force the issue. They tried not to look too interested, but they were secretly overjoyed that matters appeared to be turning out as planned.

  The next day Albert took Fritz out deer-stalking, got soaked to the skin, and took to his bed with an attack of rheumatism. Fritz was still tense at the thought of what was expected of him, but Vicky had a feeling that he was becoming besotted with her. When they found themselves momentarily alone, she took his hand and squeezed it, and he needed no further signals. After a sleepless night, following breakfast the next day he plucked up courage to ask the Queen and Albert for a quiet word; in the Queen’s words, he wanted ‘to belong to our Family; that this had long been his wish, that he had the entire concurrence and approval not only of his parents but of the King – and that finding Vicky so allierliebst, he could delay no longer in making this proposal’.2

  She agreed at once, on the understanding that Vicky was to know nothing about it until after her confirmation at Easter the next year; he ought to attend the ceremony if possible and propose immediately afterwards. In strict confidence Albert notified the Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston, and his Foreign Secretary, Lord Clarendon. He also wrote to Baron Stockmar that Fritz had ‘laid his proposal before us with the permission of his parents, and of the King; we accepted it for ourselves, but requested him to hold it in suspense as regards the other party till after her Confirmation.’ It was expected that he would not propose until the following spring, maybe on a visit to Britain with his parents and sister, and the ‘seventeenth birthday is to have elapsed before the actual marriage is thought of’.3

  Yet having taken the first step along the road to betrothal Fritz was unable to wait any longer, and on 25 September he asked the Queen for permission to give Vicky a bracelet. The Queen granted it, adding with a smile that ‘something had to be told her and he had better tell her himself’.4 In a matter-of fact manner which betrayed nothing of her true emotions, she noted in her journal that day that ‘we were uncertain, on account of her extreme youth, whether he should speak to her himself, or wait till he came back again. However, we felt it was better he should do so’.5

  Four days later the family went for a ride up the heather-covered slopes of Craig-na-Ban. Fritz and Vicky lagged behind and he picked her a sprig of white heather, an emblem of good luck, telling her that he hoped she would come to stay with him in Prussia, always. When they reached the carriage where everyone else was waiting, he gave the Queen a meaningful nod to imply that all was well. Back at the castle an agitated, half-remorseful Vicky threw herself into her parents’ arms, weeping tears of joy as she told them everything.

  Two days later, amid more tears and affectionate embraces from all, Fritz returned to Prussia. Vicky admitted to her parents that she had never been so happy as she was at the moment when he gave her that first kiss. Albert wrote to Fritz that ‘From the moment you declared your love and embraced her, the child in her vanished.’6

  ‘The description of the rapid development of my dear Vicky’s character, in consequence of our mutual declaration, is an extremely joyful piece of news for me’, Fritz wrote the next week to Albert. ‘I can vividly imagine how the dear child has suddenly moved closer to her parents, and on both sides this development is a very beneficial, amazing one; but it would not be easy for me to say any more, for because I just feel so drawn towards her and discovered so much depth of mind and feeling in her, I really cannot put into words what it was that so specially attracted me.’7

  Early next month The Times remarked acidly on Prince Friedrich Wilhelm’s recent arrival at Balmoral, for the sole purpose of ‘improving his acquaintance with the Princess Royal’. Emphasizing King Frederick William’s tacit pro-Russian att
itude during the Crimean war at what had been a critical juncture, it concluded that an alliance with Prussia would be tantamount to one with Russia. If the prince was called up to join the Russian army, his wife would be placed in a situation where loyalty to her husband would be treason to her country; and if Prussia lapsed into the status of a petty power, she would be sent back to England as an exile. ‘For our part, we wish for the daughter of our Royal House some better fate.’8 The criticisms deeply wounded Albert who knew that there was some truth in this view, despite his snort of derision that the newspaper, ‘our sulky grandmother [was] deeply offended that its permission was not first asked’.9 The future, he was sure, belonged to Fritz, who must be destined for a long reign, though he was still only second in line to the throne.

  To Augusta, the Queen wrote enthusiastically that, ‘now that the bond is tied, nothing can really mar [Fritz’s] happiness; he must be fortified by the thought that Vicky truly loves him and that we parents have given them our blessing.’ Vicky, she added, ‘is still half a child and has to develop herself both physically and morally before their marriage takes place in two years’ time’.10 As part of this development from childhood to adult status, from that time onwards mother, father and daughter dined together à trois in the evenings. ‘We must look upon her already as a woman, the child is gone forever!’11 the Queen wrote in her journal on her daughter’s fifteenth birthday.

  Back at Bonn Fritz called upon Dr Perry, his former tutor, to whom he had already confided his hopes. ‘It was not politics, it was not ambition,’ he told him, ‘it was my heart.’12 There were two reasons for rejoicing in the family home when he returned, as during his absence Louise, now seventeen, had become betrothed to Friedrich, Prince Regent of Baden.

  Whatever may have been his initial doubts about an Anglo-Prussian marriage alliance, King Friedrich Wilhelm IV defended it without hesitation. When Gerlach showed him a copy of the right-wing Kölnische Zeitung and complained of the absurd reports that his nephew had gone to England merely to propose to Queen Victoria’s daughter, the monarch admitted they were true. Though she had never really liked her brother-in-law, Augusta was keen to give credit where it was due, and thanked the King for his ready support of a family engagement which he had known would not be popular.

  Augusta may have had her reservations about the engagement. On a political and personal level she had more in common with Vicky’s family than her own. But she was already a little jealous that this girl, so like her in personality and tastes at a similar age, should have had the good fortune to make a love match so unlike her own marriage. It was likely that she, Vicky, would thus be able to have considerable influence over her fond husband when they ascended the throne. The letters Augusta continually received from Queen Victoria praising Vicky did nothing to lessen this feeling of mild resentment. Nearly thirty years of loveless married life had thoroughly embittered her, and she took consolation in the fulfilment of her wishes partly for the prestige that a British princess would bring Prussia, and partly out of satisfaction that her son was not going to marry another haughty Romanov Grand Duchess. Yet she thought Vicky was too clever by half, too full of her own importance to be a suitable daughter-in-law. Relations between both women, who could have been the best of friends, kindred spirits at a hostile court, would rarely be amicable.

  None of the other princes and princesses were pleased, Fritz noted ruefully; if any of them were, they seemed afraid to speak their minds. The family evidently did not know what to make of him and his Anglophile ways, ‘and one can feel their curiosity, uncertainty, etc.; only they are always letting off random shots in the form of sarcastic, barbed references with pretty unkind content! The unhappy party is seething with anger at not having been informed and consulted in advance, and is now trying to get revenge by incredibly petty cackling that sheds a most revealing light.’ Fortunately his friends, particularly from university days, were more gracious in their comments ‘expressing joy about the probable purpose of my journey to England [sic]. This warms my heart, and without more or much enquiry such indications suffice to give me real happiness.’13

  That winter Fritz was allowed to see more of contemporary Prussian government and politics. He was unfavourably impressed with his observations of Otto von Manteuffel’s reactionary ministry, particularly corruption in the elections to the House of Deputies, which took place as he was returning from Scotland. No efforts were spared, he told his future father-in-law, to secure the return as deputies of provincial councillors who were completely subservient to the government and could be relied on to vote exactly as the ministers instructed.

  In Berlin it is incredible what shameless devices the all-powerful police used in order to deliver to people’s homes the names of those who were to be elected. And now it has been achieved that completely spineless persons are appearing as deputies, to whom the household gods of popular representation are being offered, and we are probably achieving everything that has long since been intended. Many people are saying that motions will probably be brought forward for abolishing the constitution, and that this is what the party manoeuvring is aiming at. . . . May God protect us, and enlighten our poor most gracious King, who is no longer allowed to see things as they really are.14

  Prince Albert wholeheartedly agreed, replying prophetically that ‘designs such as those contemplated by the reactionaries . . . may result in extreme danger to the monarchy’.15 It was further reassurance that he had acquired a like-minded future son-in-law.

  Vicky wrote Fritz long letters assuring him in her artless way of her love and devotion, although at fourteen they were hardly missives of passion, more conversational messages from an adolescent to a devoted friend. In turn he wrote frequently to her, and sent her a diary in which he had described incidents as an eyewitness during the 1848 revolutions, in order that she should know ‘all the secret events of my life’.16

  The betrothal was officially announced to the European courts in April 1856, a month after Vicky’s confirmation, which Fritz could not attend because of his army commitments; it was now discussed openly for the first time. Bismarck was asked by Gerlach for his view of the English marriage and declared that he did not like the English part of it, but the bride-to-be was said to be a lady of intelligence and feeling. If she could ‘leave the Englishwoman at home and become a Prussian, then she may be a blessing to the country. If our future Queen on the Prussian throne remains the least bit English, then I see our Court surrounded by English influence,’ he observed. ‘What will it be like when the first lady in the land is an Englishwoman?’17

  Writing with hindsight many years later the journalist Charles Lowe, who was a correspondent for The Times in Berlin for several years at the height of Bismarck’s power, felt that the Princess’s remarkable qualities made her ill-equipped for the Prussian capital. ‘In truth, if she had been less gifted by nature, and less perfected by education, which had made her the darling and the intellectual image of her father, she would have achieved far greater success at the Court of Berlin.’18

  Others were less critical, and the Liberal politician Richard Cobden was one who heard nothing but good of the Princess Royal. Dining with the American minister Mr Buchanan in the spring of 1856, he was told that she was ‘All life and spirit, full of frolic and fun, with an excellent head, and a heart as big as a mountain’.19

  Fritz made a third journey to Britain in the early summer of 1856, to coincide with the Queen’s birthday. As the engagement had not yet been formally announced to Parliament, it was again a private visit. Though the Queen insisted on the young couple being chaperoned all the time, she was soon thoroughly bored with having to sit in the next room whenever they wanted to be alone together, while Fritz found it irritating as no such custom existed at home, and he longed to have his future wife to himself if only for a short while. Luckily he had an ally in the Prince of Wales, who was ordered by his mother to keep them company but helped them instead by playing with the younger children
in an adjoining room, leaving the door ajar in case she should suddenly return.

  While he was in England Vicky had an accident. One evening she was sealing a letter, when the muslin sleeve of her dress caught fire. Fortunately Miss Hildyard and a music teacher were present, and quickly put the fire out with a carpet. Her right arm was severely burned from shoulder to elbow, though she made light of the excruciating pain. Fritz was horrified, telling her that as a result of the accident she had ‘really been given to me a second time, but please, please be more careful in future.’20 For some time afterwards she could not write with her right hand and had to use the left, producing a script which, she said apologetically, looked as if her brother Bertie’s parrot had a pen in its hand.

  After representing the Hohenzollerns at the coronation of his cousin Tsar Alexander II of Russia at Moscow, Fritz returned to Berlin to help prepare for the wedding of his sister Louise to Prince Friedrich of Baden on 20 September at the Neue Palais Chapel, Potsdam. At the festivities Georgiana, Baroness Bloomfield, wife of the British ambassador, told him that she hoped that the next royal wedding she attended ‘would nearly concern him’. He smiled, admitting it seemed a long time to wait, but as the Princess Royal was so young, her mother and also his mother felt they should not marry until the following year, and they hoped that ‘by that time party spirit would run less high.’21

  He returned to England for a month to celebrate Vicky’s sixteenth birthday, marred by court mourning for Prince Karl of Leiningen, the Queen’s half-brother, who had just died. He had been a wastrel with few redeeming qualities, but the formalities of Victorian mourning demanded that the departed should receive the same attention whether worthy of it or not, and Vicky took to her bed for two days with a ‘sick headache’.