A Most English Princess, page 16
Fritz Karl, often sarcastic to others, she noticed, was gracious to her. Still, Vicky hadn’t felt at ease with Fritz’s tall cousin ever since Fritz had told her how Fritz Karl, enraged after the birth of his third daughter, had boxed Marianne’s ears. His wife still couldn’t hear properly.
In frequent letters Mama warned Vicky against unwise, unguarded confidences and told her not to laugh in her unseemly, piercing way. Vicky was tempted to reply that as she had no friends, nor prospect of making any, there was little risk of sharing secrets, or, indeed, laughing. In the end she simply promised Mama she was being careful. And Papa demanded that she take precedence, always, over Fritz’s cousins since she was the Princess Royal of England. “You should be the third lady behind the queen and Princess Augusta at all times,” he wrote. But Crown Princess Olga insisted that as the czar’s daughter she should come before Vicky, and after lengthy debate with the young baron, Vicky and he decided to cede the point. “But let’s not tell Papa,” she told her adviser.
THE WEEKS OF winter passed very slowly, and well into March it was terribly cold. Vicky dreamed at night of Osborne, of following the winding, sun-dappled path to the sea, of walking through the bluebells in the woods behind the Swiss Cottage, of sitting with the family in the dining room under Herr Winterhalter’s painting. She hadn’t realized that homesickness would actually feel like being ill. Every morning she woke with a peculiar hollowed-out ache in her tummy, which came and went all day. Study was the only remedy. She devised a daily timetable and sent it to Papa for his approval. She resumed writing a weekly essay for him. And one evening Fritz brought home his old mathematics tutor from Bonn, Professor Anton Schellbach.
“The prince tells me you are an eager student,” said the professor, bowing to her. On this rare night when they didn’t have to go out, Vicky wore her favorite Scottish plaid dress and black velvet slippers, her hair loose and streaming down her back.
“I am indeed, Professor, and I have so much to learn about mathematics,” she told him. “Perhaps we can meet regularly?”
Tuesday evenings were set aside for dear Professor S, as she called him, and she looked forward to seeing him all week long. She realized she was a little in love with him—even though he was old, perhaps fifty, and his droopy, hangdog face almost ugly. But she adored the deliberate way he spoke and was flattered that he, unlike the Prussian princes, clearly enjoyed her company. They discussed scientific and political progress, as well as tackling geometry. When he approved of something she said, he’d give a soft little nod and say, “Welch raffinierte Gedanken.” At her urging, Fritz introduced her to other teachers, including the classics scholar Christian Brandis, the archaeologist Ernst Curtius, and a philosopher, Karl Werder. “Prussia must be awakened to embrace its destiny and birth a new nation,” Professor Werder said during one evening’s discussion of the future of Germany. “With your marriage you will hasten that change.” Nothing she had heard in Berlin had made her happier.
FRITZ’S PARENTS DISAPPROVED of how much time they spent with people of lower rank, but Vicky was confident Papa would applaud. Instead he wrote back: “Why doesn’t Fritz have actual work to do? His father should scale back his military duties and have him sit on the Crown Council.”
Vicky showed this letter to her husband. “My father doesn’t want me involved in government,” said Fritz. “I’ve asked before.”
“Not want you? Why not?” she asked.
“I suppose he doesn’t consider me very capable.”
He looked so sad, and Vicky wasn’t sure how to respond. She had come to see since her arrival that while Fritz was admired at court as an excellent soldier and amiable fellow—getting on with nearly everyone—he didn’t have much influence, nor did he push himself forward. It didn’t help that his parents rarely treated him affectionately, although he was always deferential and never embarrassed or contradicted them. So odd.
In his next letter Papa instructed her to speak to Fritz’s parents about their son’s future.
“Surely Wilhelm and Augusta don’t want Fritz to arrive on the throne totally unprepared,” her father wrote. “You must say something.”
One night later that week Vicky found herself alone in a carriage with Princess Augusta en route to the opera and seized her chance.
“Aunt, Papa was just inquiring about Fritz’s official duties. He thinks Fritz is ready for more.”
“Does he indeed?”
“Yes, and he reminded me how when he arrived in England and longed to help Mama, he started with palace administration tasks and only then did he move on to other, more important things, like reading state papers. Fritz could take a similar path,” Vicky said, pleased to have such a suitable plan to propose.
“Your father advised you to bring this up with me?” said Princess Augusta in a chilly tone of voice.
“Well, yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you have the right opinions. I agree completely with what you said at dinner yesterday about the new restrictions on political speech being unacceptable.” A little bit of flattery couldn’t hurt, Vicky thought.
“And how is that relevant?” she asked, still cold.
“Because you and Fritz and I see so many things the same way. And as you are his mother you want the best for him.”
Princess Augusta laughed, not gaily. “I’m not sure who is more naïve, you or your father.”
Vicky, stung, quickly retorted: “Papa’s suggestion is a good one!”
“Your father is an intelligent man who fails to understand how the court here works,” she said.
“Why shouldn’t Fritz do more?”
“I suppose that would suit you. You fancy then you too would have influence? Maybe more than I do?” Princess Augusta gave her a sharp look.
Her hostility shocked Vicky. “But Papa wants what’s best for everyone. And for Prussia.”
“I suggest your father stay out of what is not his concern.”
They had arrived at the opera house and a coachman was opening the carriage door. Princess Augusta began to climb out and then turned to look back at Vicky.
“Don’t interfere, it will only be damaging to Fritz in the end.”
Her mother-in-law ignored her for the rest of the evening.
VICKY COULD HARDLY recount this exchange to Papa—he would be so insulted. Nor did she care to tell Fritz how she’d been rebuffed. And perhaps she had been naïve to ask Aunt Prussia for support rather than go straight to Fritz’s father. She had come to see, now that she lived in Berlin, how besieged Princess Augusta’s own position was. Fritz’s mother led the court faction who agreed that Prussia must evolve, becoming less like Russia and more like Britain. But because she and her husband didn’t get on, those who opposed her modern ideas felt free to openly deride her, with Fritz caught in the middle. While Fritz was known to lean to his mother’s side in political arguments, and his marriage to Vicky had reinforced his liberal credentials, he spent his days working with his father and his cousin Fritz Karl in the army leadership. And he preferred to avoid conflicts whenever he could.
As for Fritz’s father, he didn’t concern himself much with questions of political reform. The army was always his first priority—he wanted Prussia to be strong. While Prince Wilhelm believed that Prussia was destined to lead Germany, he felt there was no hurry about it. What angered him was his anomalous position. Prince Wilhelm had all the responsibilities of kingship, without full authority, because his brother the king still clung to life and the queen watched beadily to ensure that no important decision was made without her husband’s approval. As the king suffered from softening of the brain, the business of government often stalled. Fritz could be of great help to him, Vicky was sure, but how best to point this out?
At dinner that Sunday Vicky noticed Uncle Prussia had sat Wally next to him. Wally’s late father had been his friend and army comrade, and everyone knew he favored her. Beautiful Wally—slender, tall, with creamy skin, lovely red-brown hair, and a vivacious, expressive face—excelled at the airy, slightly mocking conversational tone employed by so many at court. From across the room Vicky watched her lady tell the prince some long story, gesturing frequently with her fluttering white hands, while he chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Could Wally be his next conquest? No, Vicky thought, probably not. Wally had confessed that the earnings from her job were her only income. She needed to marry well, and as the prince’s mistress she’d be out of bounds to other men. It was more likely that Wally was encouraging the prince’s admiration without committing to him. Vicky sighed. She frequently felt unsophisticated and juvenile in Wally’s company, although it was she who was the married woman. As she was so isolated, she had only a foggy sense of court gossip, but she worried that Wally’s familiarity with Uncle Prussia reflected badly on her. Shouldn’t her ladies be above reproach? Vicky sighed again. Her authority with her lady was undercut because she often depended on Wally for guidance—a state of affairs she could think of no good way to redress.
The next day she said to Wally: “You have such skill with Prince Wilhelm. I wish I could say the same.”
“He’s not difficult to get on with,” Wally replied. “I think he relaxes more readily with people outside his family.”
“He’s very stern with Prince Friedrich. And not much better with me.”
“Try to be less critical, Princess.”
“What on earth do you mean?” she said, aiming to convey stern displeasure with her lady’s familiarity.
“The prince, I believe, does not feel at ease with you because you don’t think Prussia is as good as home, as you always call it.”
“That’s not true!” Vicky exclaimed.
“No? You constantly find fault.”
“Only to point out how things could be improved. Such as, let me see . . . such as more pavements! We were nearly run down the other day by the Horse Guards. Don’t you remember? We had to flatten ourselves against the barracks wall to let them pass.”
Wally laughed. “When speaking with Prince Wilhelm, emphasize what you like about Berlin.”
THE FAMILY ALWAYS milled around for a half hour before dinner on Sunday, and the next week, when Vicky spotted her father-in-law standing alone for a moment, she summoned up all her courage and approached him. So nerve-racking, even though she was doing what dearest Papa wanted.
“Are you aware, Uncle, that the Neues Museum here on Spree Island has recently received a splendid cache of Greek antiquities brought back from excavations on the Peloponnesus?” she began.
The prince looked down at her, immediately on guard.
“On Thursday Professor Curtius took me to see this array of sculpture and pottery,” Vicky continued. “I am certain your schedule allows little time for museum visits, but you would gain much from seeing the pieces.”
The prince grunted.
“And the professor plans to take a team from the University of Berlin to dig at Athens this summer. Have you heard? No person in all of Europe is better informed about ancient Greece than our Professor Curtius.”
“Is that so?” said Uncle Prussia.
“Yes, in this field Prussians lead the—”
He suddenly interrupted. “Why is it your husband, my son, allows you to spend so much time with professors?”
“My outings with Professor Curtius are hardly improper!” she said with a titter. “Wally and Marie accompany me. And Baron Stockmar went along this time, too.”
Prince Wilhelm glowered. As Fritz had predicted, his father disliked the young baron and resented having a Coburger in the Hohenzollern family circle.
“It’s not impropriety I suspect,” the prince said. “It’s your zeal for more and more useless knowledge that I find ill becoming.”
“The study of classical sculpture is not becoming? Would you prefer I remain ignorant of all these exciting discoveries? And stay out of the splendid Berlin museums?” She meant to sound bantering, the way Wally would. But her father-in-law’s face darkened.
“A woman’s duty is to dedicate herself to husband and home,” he pronounced angrily.
Goodness. She hadn’t even come to the point yet, and he was already irate.
“My husband, dear Fritz, must always be my priority. You are, of course, correct, Uncle,” she said, tacking in a new direction. “And it’s because of that I’ve been meaning to speak to you, to urge you to include him more in state matters. He is ready to attend the council, to read state papers, help you with administration. Papa says so.”
Prince Wilhelm snorted. “Your father chooses you as a go-between? To send me messages about how to treat my family and run my government?”
“I’m not a messenger but Fritz’s wife, and his most devoted advocate.”
“It’s not your place to opine on such matters.”
“No? Shouldn’t any woman, especially an educated one, strive to know what is going on? Take an interest? If I failed to do that, I’d probably bore Fritz. And what good would I be to the world?” She felt suddenly buoyed and less nervous. Debating like this, she enjoyed.
Prince Wilhelm raised his eyebrows and snorted again. “You may entertain yourself with such speeches, my dear, but they count for nothing with me.”
“Nothing? You would prefer I never discuss anything of importance with you—you who are my father in Prussia?”
“I will always prefer that. Always.”
She wondered suddenly if her father had ever pictured her being treated this way. No, he would never have imagined it, nor countenanced it, and that thought emboldened her. She forced herself to meet Uncle Prussia’s eyes and said: “And you are not concerned, sir, that your dear son will arrive on the throne unprepared and unschooled?”
“It’s ridiculous how you and Fritz still play at school,” he snarled. “Let me tell you something you haven’t learned: You are not your mother. This is not England. And you have no influence on the government here in Prussia. If you desire your marriage and your life to be a success, you will keep away from that which will never be any of your business.”
He turned and strode off.
Vicky felt like she’d been smacked. The color rose in her cheeks and she could sense herself trembling, but she fought to be calm. His behavior toward her was neither just nor proper. She would not accept it as so. Yet, she must stay dignified; she could not betray her disquiet; she must remember who she was.
Fritz walked up to her.
“What were you discussing with my father?” he asked, wary. “He seems angry.”
Vicky looked left and saw Prince Wilhelm berating one of the footmen. “He’s tired of waiting so long for his dinner,” she said.
She couldn’t bear to reveal to her husband—or later, to Papa—how thoroughly and rancorously the prince had rejected her appeal. All through the meal, Fritz gave her concerned glances, sensing something wrong, but, surrounded by the family, he didn’t inquire further. While the meal dragged on, Vicky pondered how she could possibly respond to the prince’s rebuke. He saw her in such a different light than Papa did—as Fritz’s wife and nothing more. How could she have a beneficial influence on her adopted country if he continued to dismiss her? It was such a conundrum. Dear Professor S had been teaching them about the ancient geometers, who tried to “square the circle.” Here was her own intractable task.
When they got up from the table, Fritz bade his parents good night and Prince Wilhelm glared at them both. In the carriage, Fritz shook his head and sighed. “Father is so often in a bad temper these days.”
11
Babelsberg, May 1858
Mama demanded letters at least three times a week, and she preferred Vicky to write daily. So many things her parents wouldn’t understand and others that would only distress them—the quarrel between her and Prince Wilhelm foremost. But she did confess to her mother, as she felt she could to no one else, how passionately attached she had become to Fritz. In fact, it worried her. “I sometimes fear that there are some great trials or sorrows awaiting me, or I should not be allowed to enjoy happiness such as this,” she wrote.
Mama hoped Vicky could now appreciate how wearisome it had been to share Papa with so many children—and how much she suffered when her first two years of married life had been blighted by pregnancies, expecting first Vicky and then Bertie. Mama prayed fervently Vicky would be spared such a trial for at least a year, especially since she was still only seventeen. Mama had been nearly twenty-one when she married.
Vicky loved little babies, and she hoped to have her own one day, but her intimacy with Fritz completely absorbed her for the moment.
THEY FINALLY LEFT the dreadful Berliner Schloss on the first of May and went to live at Schloss Babelsberg in Potsdam, a romantic, turreted castle set on the crest of a small wooded hill overlooking the river Havel. It was owned by her parents-in-law and crammed with the overlarge, heavy furniture that Princess Augusta favored, and the windows were overgrown with ivy and Virginia creeper, a Prussian style Vicky found gloomy. Still, at Babelsberg, she and Fritz had so much more time together, with the winter season over and a shorter trip for Fritz to make to headquarters. They were assigned separate bedrooms, but in practice Vicky spent the nights with Fritz in his cool, gray room on the north side of the house, making love for hours.
“So this is what a honeymoon feels like,” Fritz joked one morning in bed. “Not squeezing the whole affair into two days, as English royal parents seem to think sufficient.”
