In the spring of 1856 the King of Prussia, uncle of “Unser Fritz,” gave a select dinner party at which he rose and, to the surprise of all present, begged to drink the health of his nephew, who was about to enter into matrimony—adding that he had for the time being been forbidden to mention the name of the bride. One who was present relates that Prince Frederick William looked so pleased and in such high spirits that every one was captivated by him. This was in the dawn of the royal romance that has just closed—the love-story which began when Fritz plucked a piece of white heather on the hillside near Balmoral Castle, and handing it to the Queen’s eldest daughter as an “emblem of good luck,” asked her to be his wife. She was a girl of sixteen, carefully brought up, famous for her talent and accomplishments, described by all who knew her then as pretty with the prettiness of youthful bloom, precisely the sort of charm which her mother had possessed at the same age, a fair complexion, soft waving hair, a captivating smile, and the grace of a slim but well-rounded figure. Prince Frederick William was regarded then as one of the handsomest princelings in Europe, tall, blue-eyed, with hair and beard of yellowish brown, and something even then in his manly, brave bearing, his genial good humor, which has since obtained for him the familiar nickname of “Unser Fritz,” taken, by the way, from a song popular among his soldiers and bestowed upon him as a term of endearment. To marry the Crown Prince of Germany might not in those days have seemed a very splendid alliance for the Princess Royal of England, but there is no doubt that personal feeling had as much to do with it as the diplomacy of courts. If some of the court party in Germany, with their wonderful faculty for petty intrigue and small jealousies, determined to accord the English princess no special welcome, there were others who determined to receive her with open arms. The English ambassador at Berlin was Lord Bloomfield. His wife had known the Princess Royal of England from infancy, having been one of those charming maids of honor who formed the first household of the young English queen, and while she made no secret of her attachment to the royal family of England, Lady Bloomfield was obliged to use the greatest tact in her intercourse with the German court. It was scarcely a comfortable period in Berlin. The King was in a condition of half imbecility from dissipation, and, as may well be imagined, his brother, then Crown Prince, later Kaiser William, found it difficult to lead a peaceful or satisfactory life. Prince Frederick William was regarded as the hope of the nation, but Germany was not then the important consolidation which she is to-day, and the outlook for the young “Flower of England,” as Princess Victoria was called, was, to say the least, doubtful. However, the marriage once decided upon, the English nation took it in the true spirit of festivity. “Vicky,” as she was called in her home circle, suddenly was transformed from a quiet little maiden of sixteen, scarcely emancipated from the school-room, into a young lady of tremendous importance. Windsor Castle, where the happy days of her childhood had been spent, began to overflow with royal guests, while preparations for a wedding scarcely less splendid than those made for the Queen of England not eighteen years before were in hand. Glimpses at the inner life of the royal family show that they were unanimously happy in the event. In spite of her somewhat rigid views as a disciplinarian, the Queen had been the most loving and judicious mother, and years later, when Princess Alice was married to the Duke of Hesse and visiting her sister in Germany, she wrote home that they talked together tenderly and regretfully of the past. “We always say to each other,” wrote the Princess Alice to her mother, “that no children were so happy and so spoiled with all the enjoyments and comforts children wish for…. If you could ever hear how often, how tenderly, Vicky and I talk of our most beloved parents, and how grateful we are for what they did for us…. I look back to my childhood and girlhood as the happiest time of my life.”
Prince Albert remarked that his daughter had the “brain of a man and the heart of a child.” She needed both to carry her through the ordeal of those first months in the German court. Everything was so utterly unlike her own home. The young couple took up their residence in a palace which was a dull barren-looking place, suggestive of the formalities of a court which had scarcely recovered from the chilling miseries of old Frederick’s day. The Princess endeavored simply to conduct herself like a natural, true-hearted woman. During the summer there came the delight of a visit from both parents, and certainly the Prussian Court did its best to make the Queen and Prince Consort feel satisfied as to their child’s happiness. A fortnight of brilliant festivity was broken up in hot noon and then by family dinners and quiet conferences, and the Queen returned to England contented in all things but the fact that she could not be with her child “at a time when every other mother can.” So much has been said as to the treatment of the Crown Princess at the time of her son’s birth, that I cannot forbear quoting Lady Bloomfield’s account of the event, which, as I know from members of her own family, is absolutely authentic and corroborated by many others. “The Princess Royal was confined of a son on January 27, 1859, and it was a very anxious moment. Lord Bloomfield was sent for about noon, and kept sending me messages to say the Princess was very ill; and therefore it was an inexpressible relief when the welcome news came that all was happily over. But at first it was supposed the baby was dead, and it was only by the doctor’s inflating his lungs that he was brought around. An accident happened which might have cost the Princess her life! She was to be attended by Dr. Martin, as well as her own household doctor. About eight A.M. the latter wrote to Dr. Martin to say his services were required immediately. But the servant to whom the letter was intrusted, instead of taking it, put it into the post; the consequence was it never reached Dr. Martin till past one P.M., and when he arrived at the Palace he found it was too late to do what ought to have been done hours before; he was very much alarmed, but the Princess and her child were both saved. I saw the baby a few hours later—he was a pretty little child and was sleeping very contentedly in the nurse’s arms. When the Princess was so ill she kept begging those present to pray for her, and she looked up to her husband, who held her in his arms the whole time, and asked him to forgive her for being impatient. Countess Blucher, who was present, told me she never expected the Princess to have strength to get through her confinement, and one of the doctors told her he thought she would die and the baby.”
The child born at this time is, I need scarcely say, the recently proclaimed Emperor of Germany.
It was not possible for a woman so active in heart and brain as the Crown Princess to be idle, and, like her sister, Princess Alice of Hesse, she organized and carried on large charities, and, at the same time, startled German court society by introducing into it a literary and artistic element, inviting people to her soirées who had never before been distinguished by a royal card of invitation. But society was forced to admit that the Princess Victoria infused an element of grace and geniality into it which was stimulating and refreshing. Possibly she did not always act with tact in carrying her own point, but she was magnetic, enthusiastic, and, like her sister Alice, so genuinely good a woman that she carried almost everything before her, and her children from first to last have been popular. They have been six in number, and only one has died, a boy, Sigismund, who was attacked suddenly with a fatal illness just as the Crown Prince was about to advance with his army into Bohemia in 1866, and I have been told that the Empress has never recovered this loss. To her the little lad, who was, as the Princess Alice said, “such a merry darling,” seems always the one needed presence.
The home life of this branch of the German royal family has been very happy. A routine of education something like that adopted by her mother was begun when the little people were old enough to be put into school training. The letters which were written by the young princesses to friends in England, and which were shown me, bear evidence to the entire simplicity of their training. I remember particularly the round careful characters of a letter written by the youngest, Princess Margarite, to a lady in England at whose house I was visiting, when the little girl could scarcely have been more than seven years of age. Its special significance was that it referred to the marriage of her sister Charlotte, the first granddaughter of the Queen to wed. Princess Charlotte was supposed to make a love match, but rumor unfortunately seems correct in saying that Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Meiningen has not proved all that the husband of so sweet a girl should be. The wedding was as picturesque as traditional ceremonial could make it, and the fantastic but interesting “torch-light dance of the Cabinet Ministers” was insisted upon by the Crown Princess, who has a distinct love of dramatic effect. This dance has its significance in being a part of the ancient marriage ceremonial of Germany.
When the Crown Princess visited England, her children were in the habit of making constant visits to the charming country house of a lady, friend of the writer, the only restriction which it entailed being that during their stay no other guests could be admitted; but the intimacy of the royal family with the people of —— Park is an evidence of the simple way in which many friendships of the English royal family are conducted. Such friends are chosen with the greatest care, and on a firm basis, but, once admitted to the royal confidence, there are fewer barriers to intimacy than the public would suppose. The Princess Royal rarely visited her old home without making some new acquaintance in the world of art or letters, and, on the occasion of her visiting a studio or inviting some person of literary distinction to call upon her, the only formality would be in certain outward ceremonies, such as waiting permission to be seated—which was, of course, promptly given—and leaving when the princess felt obliged to end the interview.
Since the marriage of the Princess Royal, various other alliances have united the English and German families. The wife of the Duke of Connaught, Princess Louise Marguerite, was one of the three daughters of the beautiful Marie of Anhalt, aunt to the late Emperor. These girls were constantly with the Empress when her own children were growing up, and it was supposed that the Duke of Edinburgh was to marry the eldest of the trio, Marie, who was noted among her cousins for a pride of demeanor peculiar in that unaffected circle. An amusing story was told me by one of the English household characteristic both of Princess Marie and her cousin, the Princess Charlotte. When children, they sat for their photographs to a photographer, who was overcome by the dignity of the occasion, and in his nervousness kept addressing them as “gracious young ladies,” which is the common formula used in Germany in any rank of life. The little Princess Marie stood this as long as she could when, interrupting the pose, she exclaimed, “We are your royal highnesses.” Princess Charlotte added, with a laugh, “I’m Dicke Lottie” (Fat Lottie), which was her father’s pet name for her. The Duke of Edinburgh, as we know, married Marie of Russia, and the fate reserved for Marie of Prussia was an aged husband tottering into his grave but enormously rich, who died a few weeks after his wedding day, leaving his young widow to marry the man of her choice. The marriage of Prince Henry with his cousin, Princess Irene, of Hesse, will unite the two families still more closely, but among the fledglings of royalty in Europe it is almost impossible to marry out of the family. The love-match of Alexander of Battenberg and Princess Victoria had to be broken by statesmanship.
There can be no question that her brief reign was a period of intense importance to the Empress Victoria. Aside from her domestic anxieties there were the grave political complications which must affect all about her, and as she has for years suffered much at the hands of the “Chancellor’s party,” it was but natural that she should try to assert her authority at least in the regulation of her own domestic matters.
Emperor William’s attitude toward his mother is attributed by the general public to Bismarck’s guidance; but it seems to me that those who recall the reasons for the temporary estrangement of the Prince of Wales and the Queen will see a parallel case now in the German Court. Amiable, unaffected, and good humored as she is, Empress Augusta, William’s wife, has not the training or tact needed to influence this young Hohenzollern, who has, along with many sterling good qualities, inherited something of old Frederick’s character. Even the indomitable Chancellor may not be able to keep him in leading strings as cleverly as he thinks, for those who know him best assert that he is much more master of his own will than people suspect.
The sort of petty jealousy which has disturbed the life of the Empress Victoria, has never been more clearly shown than in the question of Sir Morell Mackenzie’s treatment of her husband. That he was an Englishman seems to have been cause enough to stir up discontent, and, had it been possible, the famous physician’s reputation would have been torn to shreds. But Dr. Mackenzie, cool, calm, and imperturbable, moved in and out of the petty intrigues of the court or Chancellor’s party, and cleverly held his own. His ability is unquestioned, and if any one has ever accused him of charlatanism in his profession, it is because of a peculiar knack he possesses at understanding hidden causes of a disease and perhaps acting oftener on instinct successfully than many of his colleagues consider wise. My own first acquaintance with him dates some years back when he had a fine English reputation, and was regarded as so good an authority upon bronchial ailments that a Devonshire girl, in whom I was greatly interested, felt willing to take a long journey on a “forlorn hope” of Dr. Mackenzie’s curing her of a throat disease which had baffled many physicians for three years. She stayed some months in my house in London, under Dr. Mackenzie’s care, during which time I had an opportunity of seeing him frequently, and was interested in much that he told me of his own career—his intense interest in scientific study and his determination to be at the very top of the ladder. At that time his fine house in Harley Street, the amount of red tape necessary to reach him, and the general air of importance given to the waiting and consulting rooms, inclined many people to think him overfond of display. In fact, socially, the man enjoyed luxuries. He was rich, his circle included many of the most brilliant men and women of the day. He liked a certain pomp in his surroundings, but was himself a thorough gentleman, fluent, cultivated, and with an intense fondness for music, which made him specially interested in treating Patti, Nilsson, and other famous singers who always put themselves under his care. I remember much that he told me of his American patients, and recall him as a tall handsome man who must be at present about forty-five, with a sort of smiling good humor and an agreeable eloquence in conversation. I might add that he certainly effected a wonderful improvement in Mary G——.
No events in the life of the last Empress of Germany can possibly have had the dramatic intensity of those connected with the past few months. As she received her mourning court in the old Schloss, what must have been her feelings, seated in the throne room, whose walls, could they speak, would tell of so much that is memorable in the lives of the Hohenzollerns! She was draped and veiled in black—their Empress paramount in authority no doubt—but for how long? The old Schloss is no longer used as the home of the sovereign, but it is the focus of all that is most significant and impressive to the people of Berlin. Associated with many historical events—grim with cruel memories of Frederick the Great’s young days, it has its chief romance in being the scene of the first appearance of the famous White Lady, whose story in the “Hohenzollern” version is briefly as follows:
During the middle ages, a noble lady, surpassingly beautiful, of the house of Orlamunde, fell madly in love with a prince of the reigning house, and sent him privately word of her love and an offer of marriage. The prince would gladly have married her, but for the fact that his parents would not consent. Social intercourse was somewhat restrained in those days. He was compelled to dispatch a page to the lady with an ambiguous message, declining her offer on the ground that “four eyes” stood in their way. The young widow believed that he referred to her two children, and promptly put them to death, notifying him that the obstacle was removed. A terrible scene ensued between the prince and his murderess lady love, after which he fled into solitude, and she died of remorse. Since then, her ghost is said to be condemned to haunt the halls of the Hohenzollerns, and her appearance is a warning of death to some members of the family. About fifteen years ago, the terror of the inhabitants of Berlin, on account of some reported appearances of the White Lady, reached such a height that the Kaiser had every one of the seven hundred rooms in the Schloss thoroughly searched, in the hope of finding some clew to the mystery; but had he succeeded, I doubt whether the people would have given up their pet superstition. Many are ready enough to testify to having seen this pale, white-robed apparition before the death of the late Emperor, and stories are current of her having shown herself once again since that time.
Emperor Frederick has left his widow for life the Schloss at Hamburg, as well as the palaces they lived in at Potsdam and Berlin, and the palace of Charlottenburg. These palaces are far simpler than the old Schloss. The apartments of the present empress are furnished with less luxury than those homes of many American women of to-day, but her love of art is shown in the pictures and decorations of the rooms, and in them the most peaceful hours of her life are spent. There she is free to be natural and unembarrassed, with her family about her, for so much seclusion is at least permitted to royalty. No one comes to their rooms without special permission. The Empress is reached and communicates with her friends by special couriers, which go constantly to and fro between the courts carrying letters, packages, dispatches, etc. The Queen’s messenger, for instance, travels from England to Berlin, or to Florence, where she frequently stays. When the lady to whom I have referred as being so often the hostess of the German royal family, made some dainty garments for the Princess Charlotte’s first child, I remember that the package was sent by the Queen’s messenger, and in a charming letter the young mother described how, in a spirit of fun, she had arranged the things all around her sitting-room, to amuse her husband on his return from a hunting expedition. Letters reach the Empress, of course, when sent through the ordinary channels of the mail, if they contain anything worth notice; but all letters are opened first by a private secretary, and, it is needless to say, few find their way into the hands they are intended for. The household of the Empress consists of several ladies and gentlemen, who have various official duties; but those directly about her person are the ladies and gentlemen in waiting, and their duty it is to attend her majesty in riding, walking, etc., to receive any visitors she does not care to see, and to transact personal business of the day.
It was during 1879 that I saw the Empress for the last time, and standing quite near her, observed the striking likeness to her mother, which since then is even more marked. The fairness and bloom of her youth have vanished, but, like the Queen, there is something peculiarly dignified or regal in her carriage, something in the pose of her head, or her gestures in speaking, which gives her a distinction, redeeming her rather heavy and certainly plain looks. To those directly about her she is the most fascinating sort of a companion. Dr. Mackenzie declares she is the cleverest woman he has ever met, and her numerous friends in the literary and artistic world are no less prompt in their expressions of admiration for her brilliancy and genius. But with all her brilliancy her case is a sad one. One way or another her life was one of disappointment, with, however, the immense satisfaction of a leal, loving husband, who was her ideal of a man, and who, even in dying, developed such grand qualities, as to render him a source of greater pride and an object of deeper love. The fearful affliction which came upon them lifted up their hearts, and made her capable of writing that immortal telegram in which she announced his death to the Empress Augusta. She was always right-minded but self-willed. The pride of spirit was for years brought out by her drop down from England, where in her youth every one was wildly loyal to the Queen and her children, to prosaic, harsh, matter-of-fact Berlin, a capital bereft of poetry, without antiquity, and having no tradition but that of drill-sergeantism. Women were not held in honor, although the princesses of the house of Hohenzollern had for generations shown fine mental qualities. This to Queen Victoria’s daughter was unendurable. She respected her mother, herself and her sex, and she set before her the task of ameliorating the condition of girls, as a way to the future elevation of Prussian women. Her Victoria Real-Schule was founded when she was quite a young woman. She found the model in Paris when she came there at the age of twenty-eight to study the Universal Exhibition held in 1867. She also sedulously educated herself to play a great part as a Liberal Prussian Queen and German Empress. Nobody ever took more pains with her mind and motives, and so far as she could she carried theory into action. She felt that women were great through true wifehood and motherhood, and was her husband’s companion in all but his military duties, and not only the instructress but the fellow-student of her daughters.
The consciousness of her capacities was strong in her. She was too good and upright to wish for the death of the old Emperor. But she looked forward to it and had great ambition, as well an ambition in itself great, to fill with renown the station of Empress-Consort.
In the ordinary course of things she would have come to the throne before she was middle-aged. But the abnormal longevity of Emperor William kept the crown from her reach until she was forty-eight, and more than fifty-eight in feeling. The Imperial Crown was only a crown of thorns. However, she gained through the coronation of sorrow a moral position which she could have never otherwise had. Even in harsh Berlin there is a reaction in her favor, and all are in sympathy with her. She is very rich. As Princess Royal of England, Empress Dowager, Empress Mother, a wife of sorrows, a woman of a right mind and an upright heart, she is perhaps a better instrument for doing good than were she an Empress-Consort, fettered with officialities, and a butt to the hatred of baffled intriguers. With her rank, money, intellect, experience, prestige and mind, she may win for herself a glorious name in patronizing arts, and promoting works of charity and social reform.
