Dearest Vicky, Darling Fritz (8 page)

Like Augusta before her, she was surprised by their lack of interests, and could not even share her mother-in-law’s appetite for tittle-tattle and endless parties. While she made friends with Marianne, wife of another of Fritz’s cousins, Prince Friedrich Karl, her indiscreet conversations got her into trouble. After telling Marianne too freely about her walks in the Berlin slums and making indignant remarks about the poverty and wretched conditions she saw there, her words soon got back to the rest of her in-laws, who told her she had no right to complain about ‘their’ country like that. Vicky found herself confiding in Marianne because she felt so sorry for her. The latter was typical of the submissive Prussian princesses who knew their place. Her husband wanted sons who would grow up to be brave soldiers like him, and when she presented him with a third daughter he boxed her ears, leaving her with permanently impaired hearing. Vicky was horrified that the Hohenzollern women should accept such physical abuse as natural. Prince Friedrich Karl, she soon realized, was typical of the Prussian man who despised women and would always do so ‘until he finds one that is his match and tells him the truth.’ How she wished she could be the one to do so; he considered ladies ‘as
un chiffon
to be well-dressed, and look pretty. To have stupid compliments and flattery paid them and to have children is all they are made for.’
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How grateful she was that she had had the good fortune to marry the one shining exception to this rule.

Among her ladies-in-waiting Vicky had two more friends of her own age. Wally Hohenthal and Marie Lynar helped to enliven the times when Fritz was out all day after breakfast on military duties, and they could while away the hours playing the piano, painting, reading aloud to each other, and embroidering kneelers for the English church in Berlin. When not under the censorious gaze of the master and mistress of the household, they indulged in nursery games Vicky had brought to Prussia with her like draughts and ludo, or even hide-and-seek in the palace corridors. The more worldlywise Wally could not resist the opportunity to tease her mistress, or Marie, with stories of
Die Weisse Frau
, the ghost of a longdead family member which haunted the Schloss as she stalked the corridors, moaning to herself. One evening she was reading to Vicky in the drawing room when a door slowly opened in the wind. There were nearly girlish screams of terror at the prospect that they might have been interrupted by a real spirit presence. Though both girls were Prussians, they understood Vicky far better than her in-laws. They might resent her unguarded criticism of their country and her insistence that everything was done much better ‘at home’ in England, but unlike the princesses they knew better than to take offence.

Had it not been for their companionship, and the love of Fritz, these first few months of life in Prussia would have been almost impossible for Vicky. Though it is difficult to believe that she had had no warning, certainly from her husband if not from her father as well, she was thoroughly taken aback by the princes of whose family she had just become a part. They were a pompous, reactionary crowd – and unbelievably coarse as well. Fritz’s uncles so delighted in ‘improper jokes’ at family dinner that even the hardened Prussian princesses sometimes found it hard not to blush. By comparison Prince Wilhelm seemed a kindly, dignified old soul, but Vicky was ashamed at his proud admission that his only interests in life were military – an astounding remark from a man so close to the throne. She found it hard to get used to Sunday dinners between 2 and 5 p.m. on the ground floor of the Schloss, attended by the whole family in full evening dress and decorations. Everyone was shocked when she once sneezed while standing behind the King’s chair and Queen Elizabeth reprimanded her, only to be told that such attitudes were not to be found ‘at home’ in England.

Life in Prussia was a shattering shock to the system. In England she had been the second lady in the land after her mother and sovereign, and as the eldest of nine children a natural leader in the nursery. A gifted, quick-witted learner with intellectual powers that impressed even her demanding father, she had often been told that she was far cleverer than her backward, stupid, stammering brother Bertie, heir to their mother’s throne. Now, a conscientious, eager yet immature girl of seventeen, her position had changed overnight. She had to take her place as the youngest of several princesses, who were almost without exception a dull, vacuous crowd, content to accept their lot as good for childbearing, prepared to fill their time with gossip and dinner parties. Her mother-in-law, who like her had also been given an excellent education and had a wealth of intellectual interests, had quickly learned to accept that the best way to a trouble-free life was to conform to type, argue with her husband when she must, but make the best of her situation as she could. Occasionally Augusta unbent sufficiently to draw Vicky aside and tell her not to think ill of her, ‘if I saw her lose command over herself’ after family rows, but such intimacies were rare.
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If Vicky had been welcomed into the Prussian household with consideration or respect, with her father-in-law the first to ease her path, then the subsequent story of her married life would surely have been very different. In a strange environment and desperately homesick, she was intelligent enough to tread carefully at first. Yet it would have been remarkable if she had not taken refuge in everything which reminded her of home. Fritz warned her as gently as he could to be more circumspect in the presence of her in-laws, but he was powerless to smooth her path against the generally conflicting advice from her parents’ frequent, voluminous letters. ‘Your place is that of your husband’s wife, and of your mother’s daughter,’ the Prince Consort reminded her rather ambiguously three weeks after her wedding. ‘You will desire nothing else, but you will also forego nothing of that which you owe to your husband and to your mother’.
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He never ceased to imply that she had a mission in life to hold steadfast to the political opinions which he had inculcated in her. Queen Victoria was equally forthright in reminding Vicky of her duty ‘as my daughter and Princess Royal’,
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by following English practices in her own personal life, regardless of whether they would cause any resentment. How she was supposed to reconcile these commands from her mother with her new status as a Prussian princess by marriage was never explained.

Thus were sown the seeds of the problem that would plague Vicky for the rest of her life. She was blamed for being tactless, and persistently going her own way in the face of hostility from her in-laws. Constantly hectored from a distance by parents determined not to let go, it was almost impossible for her to do otherwise. As a girl of seventeen who had led a very sheltered life by anyone’s standards, she had no opportunity to stand back and look at matters from a distance. An older, more self-confident princess in her position could have perhaps decided that her parents would do better to let her recognize that her loyalties had shifted with marriage and should be kept in their place, but for Vicky this was easier said than done. Her father never ceased to try and guide her political attitudes and opinions, while the Queen seemed more intent on controlling her daughter’s personal life as a married woman as much as possible. She demanded frequent, preferably daily, return letters about every detail of her routine and new life, and her daughter’s views on her Prussian relatives. Far from helping her to stand on her own two feet, such requests, or rather orders, weakened her confidence, confused her loyalties, and undermined, even came close to destroying her judgment.

Ever eager to learn, she had been positive that all she needed to do in her new home was to apply the lessons her father had taught her, and all would be well. She had not yet absorbed his ability to see matters as part of a broader picture, and distinguish the unimportant from the essential, the matters of the heart from those of the head. If she had acquired such insight, the damage to her future need not have been so great.

Utterly devoted to his wife, Fritz was determined to make a success of his marriage where his parents had conspicuously failed. Augusta had long since ceased to stay in Berlin after the social season any longer than court etiquette demanded, preferring to live alternately at Weimar, Baden, or her country palace in Koblenz. While he sympathized with his mother, he took the lesson to heart. He did not want such a life for himself and Vicky, and though he was nothing like his male relations who merely regarded their wives as brood mares, he could have been excused for wondering whether he had in effect married not just a wife but his wife’s parents as well.

Though the young couple had had little opportunity to get to know each other well, he was genuinely in love with her. It was a relief to spend what time he could with a loving wife instead of with his quarrelsome parents and uncles. When they did not have to endure the company of their relations, he enjoyed reading to her in German from his favourite histories, and listening to her reading, usually in English, from newspapers sent to her regularly from London, or from her treasured set of Shakespeare bought with her pocket money as a girl. Yet such precious evenings were rare. They had only been in Berlin for a few days when his father thoughtlessly ordered him to take part in yet another course of military training, so often the only part of the day they spent alone together was breakfast.

If he had hoped that his married status would have made any difference to his relationship with his parents, he was to be disappointed. The Prince Consort was right to complain that his son-in-law was a victim of Prussian ‘army-mania’, but he was living in a dreamworld if he seriously expected his letters to both Fritz and Vicky to request that he be given more training as heir-presumptive – attending council meetings, studying state papers, and the like – to have the intended effect. There was no point in approaching the King, now under constant medical attention, so Vicky plucked up courage and asked Prince Wilhelm to consider giving his son a role commensurate with his status. As she had feared, he angrily told her to mind her own business. Very set in his ways, the Prince refused to accept that statecraft, even for a future sovereign, was more important than the army rituals of drilling and marching day in and day out. It was of apparently no consequence that he was over sixty and his son was probably not so far away from the throne. This may have been the main reason for his obstinacy, for in his moods of despondency Wilhelm feared that there could be a hereditary element to his brother’s illness. Little more than a year younger himself, he felt that his days might be numbered as well.

‘Perpetual learning saps energy,’ the Prince Consort had written to Augusta, ‘and Fritz has arrived at an age when he ought to be at work, I mean, on something really useful. He feels this himself, for he spoke to me at Windsor about his desire to be drawn by his father more into active business. He was shy of suggesting it to him for fear of appearing ambitious or pushing.’
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Years of marriage to the obstinate Wilhelm had taught Augusta that to try and intervene herself would be futile. She continued to scold and bully her son, venting on him all the irritation her husband caused her. At first she was civil and occasionally kind to Vicky, but jealousy of her soon overcame all other considerations, and it was not long before she treated her unpleasantly as well. Had she cared deeply for Vicky she would have behaved with more understanding, but she probably assumed that Vicky was young and malleable enough to accept her fate and, after initial resistance to the mores of royal life at Berlin, would resign herself to conforming with the status quo at court. If so, she greatly underestimated the resilience and determination of her son’s wife. They stayed with her for a few days in April in Weimar, and though they had been looking forward to the visit, Augusta was rude to family guests and servants alike, the atmosphere was frigid and uncomfortable, Fritz caught a heavy cold, and they were given separate rooms on different floors. They were only too glad to return to Berlin afterwards.

In May they moved to Babelsberg, their summer palace at Potsdam, sixteen miles south-west of Berlin. The interior was almost as uninviting as the Berlin Schloss, with heavy tasteless furniture and ungainly hothouse plants, and they were not allowed to make any major alterations, apart from hanging their own photographs and a selection of Vicky’s paintings. However it had the advantage of being in a more picturesque woodland setting, overlooking the river Havel and open countryside, and it was closer to Fritz’s military headquarters where he had to report daily. A couple of days after their arrival Vicky slipped while coming downstairs, as she moved to get out of the way of a lamplighter who was going up. Not wishing to make a fuss, she attended the opera as planned that night, but next day found that she had sprained her ankle, which was painful and swollen. Though it was soon better, Dr Wegner was anxious, as he suspected she was carrying her first child.

The Prince Consort had just told her that he was about to visit Coburg, and hoped she could meet him there. As the doctor forbade her to travel, he came to visit them at Babelsberg at the beginning of June. On the next day the King, Queen, Wilhelm and Augusta drove over from Charlottenburg to see him. Though he was distressed at the deteriorating appearance of King Friedrich Wilhelm IV, he was pleased by the evident mutual love and affection of his daughter and son-in-law, telling Baron Stockmar that ‘the harmony between the young people is perfect.’
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By this time Queen Victoria knew that her daughter was
enceinte
. This ‘horrid news’, she wrote tactlessly, ‘upset us dreadfully. The more so as I feel certain almost it will all end in nothing.’
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A more tactless, less graceful remark to an anxious eldest child expecting her first baby would be hard to imagine. Some weeks later she warned Fritz that what filled him with joy ‘brings me sorrow and anxiety, for it is bound up with so much suffering and danger for the poor and very young mother!’
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