Grandmama of Europe: The Crowned Descendants of Queen Victoria

by Theo Aronson

What better way of ensuring this than by marrying the Tsar's daughter to Princess Marie's son, Romania's future King?

  Nicholas and Alexandra, steeling themselves to the idea that their daughters would have to marry sooner or later, favoured the suggestion. Marie was not so well disposed. Although flattered by the proposal that her son marry the Tsar's daughter, she was afraid that Olga might be a transmitter of haemophilia. She did not want the dreaded disease carried into the Romanian royal family. Still, not wanting to refuse the imperial invitation to Russia, the Crown Prince and Princess, with their son Carol in tow, arrived at Tsarskoe Selo in the spring of 1914.

  The visit was not a great success. The always perceptive Marie found the atmosphere at Tsarskoe Selo unreal and, at the same time, deadly dull. The imperial family lived as in a dream, cut off, not only from the grim realities of life in Russia but from all society, even their relations. Although the Tsar was as gentle and charming as ever, he appeared remote; he seemed to live, says Marie, 'in a sort of imperial mist'. And of course, one could never get close to the Tsaritsa.

  One of the troubles was that Alicky and Marie were as unlike as chalk and cheese. Where the one cousin was frank, charming and socially accomplished, the other was reserved, inarticulate and gauche. 'She managed to put an insuperable distance between her world and yours,' wrote the disapproving Marie, 'between her experiences and yours, her thoughts, her opinions, her principles, rights and privileges. She made you, in fact, feel an intruding outsider, which is of all sensations the most chilling and uncomfortable . . . .

  'The pinched, unwilling, patronizing smile with which she received all you said as if it were not worth while answering, was one of the most disheartening impressions I ever received. When she talked, it was almost in a whisper and hardly moving her lips as though it were too much trouble to pronounce a word aloud. Although there was little difference in age between us, she had a way of making me feel as though I were not even grown up!'

  The girls Marie liked better. She found them natural and gay and pleasant; more so when their mother was not in the room. They regarded her, Marie was quick to point out, as 'a good sport'. Olga she did not find especially pretty. Nor, it seems, did Carol. Indeed, neither of the young people showed the slightest desire to get to know the other better. As the object of the visit – a possible match between Olga and Carol – was never mentioned by Nicholas and Alexandra, Marie took it upon herself to broach the subject.

  One day before luncheon she asked to see Alicky alone. The Empress invited her into her famous mauve boudoir and there the two cousins spoke with, on Alicky's part, unusual candour about the project. Both agreed that the children must decide for themselves; it would never do to force a marriage. All that the parents could do was to 'create occasions' on which the two could meet. Smilingly we agreed that we felt entirely incapable of influencing Fate, that, in fact, we had no idea how such things were done. At that moment we were simply two mothers, mutually relieved that we "had had it out". I felt that I had done my duty, the rest was in the hands of Fate.'

  It was without regret that Marie, Nando and Carol left Tsarskoe Selo to spend a few days in St Petersburg. In the home of one of her aunts, Marie was able to see 'all those who had not dared approach Tsarskoe's solitude, had not dared intrude into that mysterious centre where somewhere in the shade Rasputin held his fatal sway'. She did not see Rasputin.

  That summer the Russian imperial family created one of the occasions on which Olga and Carol were able to meet. They paid a formal, day-long visit to the Romanian Black Sea port of Constanza. It was a day of brilliant sunshine. On the gaily beflagged pier to greet them were old King Carol, his Queen Carmen Sylva ('in a too long, flowing gown, whiter than the foam of the sea'), Ferdinand, Marie and their six children. Whatever else the imperial visit might have achieved (the day's ceremonial was glittering) it brought the young couple no nearer to marriage. Olga would not even contemplate it and Carol was not interested enough to take things any further.

  That Carol had nothing against the institution of marriage itself was to become only too apparent in later years; it was simply that he had no wish to marry Olga.

  That night with, according to the effusive Marie, 'the heavens a mighty map of stars', the imperial family sailed back to Russia. Marie was never to see them again.

  Her parents were not unduly upset by the fact that Olga had decided against marrying Carol. They would never have dreamed of forcing one of their daughters into marriage. 'You know how difficult marriages are in reigning families,' the Empress once explained to a Russian Foreign Minister. 'I know it by experience, although I was never in the position my daughters occupy, being [only] the daughter of the Grand Duke of Hesse, and running little risk of being obliged to make a political match. Still, I was once threatened with the danger of marrying without love or even affection, and I vividly remember the torments when . . . [the Empress named a member of one of the German reigning houses] arrived in Darmstadt and I was informed that he intended to marry me. I did not know him at all and I shall never forget what I suffered when I met him for the first time. My Grandmother, Queen Victoria, took pity on me, and I was left in peace. God disposed otherwise of my fate, and granted me undreamed of happiness.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Balkan Queens

  1

  The outbreak of the First World War, on 4 August 1914, proved, if proof of it had been necessary, the irrelevance of the family ties between the various royal houses of Europe. That the majority of European sovereigns were members of Queen Victoria's family made not the slightest difference to the course of events. Although, during the hectic days before the fighting began, telegrams flew between the closely related sovereigns of Germany, Russia and Great Britain – Willy, Nicky and Georgie – their urgent phrases affected the outcome not at all. War found the various grandchildren of Queen Victoria in firmly opposed camps. Germany, headed by the Queen's eldest grandson, Kaiser Wilhelm II, was chock-a-block with Victoria's relations. Against them were ranged the families of her British grandson, King George V and her Russian granddaughter, the Empress Alexandra. Still neutral at the outbreak of war were the countries in which lived her other granddaughters, Queen Ena of Spain, Queen Maud of Norway, Queen Sophie of the Hellenes and Crown Princess Marie of Romania. But they, too, were to suffer the agonies of divided family loyalties. For all Queen Victoria's descendants, the next four years were to be a heart-breaking time.

  Yet Wilhelm II, ever wont to over-estimate the powers of reigning sovereigns, simply could not admit that the war had been caused by anything other than the duplicity of his relations. He accused King George V of conspiring with Tsar Nicholas II to complete the nefarious policy of encirclement begun by King Edward VII. To think, he exclaimed, that George and Nicky should have played him false; if his grandmother had been alive, she would never have allowed it.

  It was ironic that at the moment when Queen Victoria's matriarchy reached its zenith – when her direct descendants sat on the thrones of no fewer than seven European countries – Europe should be ravaged by the greatest war that it had ever known.

  In few countries was the problem of opposing loyalties more acute than in Romania. King Carol I, der Onkel, and Queen Elisabeth, Carmen Sylva, were staunchly pro-German. Crown Prince Ferdinand, as always, kept his own counsel, but Queen Victoria's granddaughter, the volatile Crown Princess Marie, was unhesitatingly pro-Entente. As a result, feelings in the royal household ran high. King Carol, old and broken in health, tried to be tactful and not to air, too often, his belief in the invincibility of the German Army. But there was no hiding Carmen Sylva. Overnight, she found herself, says Marie,' die Rheintochter (daughter of the Rhine) with a vengeance; it was Deutschland über Alles, Gott mit uns, and all the rest of it'. In her ringing voice the Queen would proclaim that Germany's day had come; that the Germans must, for the good of humanity, become lords of the earth; and, more obscurely, that England must fall because of the immorality of her women. Th
is last might, or might not, have been a shaft aimed at the flirtatious Marie.

  In less heroic moments the Queen would cry out against the horrors of war. If only, she would declaim, they could all 'join hands in a mighty circle and sail up to Heaven, away from the miseries of this darkened sphere'.

  To this effusion the King would grunt an eminently sensible answer. 'That is rubbish, Elisabeth.'

  On the day after France and Germany had opened hostilities, King Carol convoked a crown council to decide on Romania's attitude to the war. Although the country's treaty with the Central Powers was merely a defensive one, the King was anxious for Romania to join Austria and Germany in the field. He had no doubt that Romania, as Germany's ally, would reap enormous benefits from a quick German victory. In this he came up against the implacable opposition of his council. The result of the conference was that Romania would remain neutral.

  So upset were the King and Queen by what they considered to be the country's rejection of them, that they began to talk of abdication. If King Carol abdicated, would Crown Prince Ferdinand, who was said to share his uncle's pro-German sympathies, do the same? Marie was appalled at the idea. She had no intention of giving up her rights to a crown which was almost within her grasp. Yet when she tackled Nando on his intentions, he refused, as always, to commit himself.

  Nor was Marie the only one to be alarmed at the prospect of the dynasty's wholesale withdrawal from the scene. The politicians were no less anxious. One day a leading Liberal member came to implore her not to think of leaving the country. 'Even if the Prince, your husband, feels bound to follow his uncle into self-imposed exile, promise that you will remain with us with your son Carol, if possible with all your children, remain to carry on the work begun by the old King; it is not possible nor fair that you should forsake us at this crisis when we know you are with us with all your heart . . . .'

  That, indeed, was the core of the matter. Marie was undoubtedly with them with all her heart. Not only would she not think of deserting the Romanian people but she was in complete harmony with them. With public opinion swinging away from the Central Powers towards the Entente Powers, she was becoming the symbol of the nation's new allegiances. The egocentric Marie was not slow to appreciate her position. 'I,' she exclaimed in her histrionic fashion, 'was becoming their hope . . . at the Great Hour my country and I were one.'

  'I felt prepared,' she continues, 'for all that would be asked of me, equipped for the battle that lay before me; I was not afraid – on the contrary, a strange elation possessed me and with it the certainty that I was ready for the great call that was coming, for it was coming; I felt it in every drop of my blood; only, I did not know that it was to come so soon!'

  It came, that 'great call', on 10 October 1914, just over two months after the outbreak of war. King Carol, disheartened by his country's ingratitude and the German retreat on the Marne, died in his sleep. Early the following morning the news was telephoned to Princess Marie. Her husband was now King Ferdinand of Romania and she Queen.

  Whatever else the momentous news might have done, it did not strike Marie dumb. On the contrary, she has recorded her reactions vividly and at great length. Her moment had arrived and she responded to it, she assures us, unhesitatingly. Lest her ineffectual husband respond to it with rather less enthusiasm, she presented him with a golden bowl which she had obviously been keeping in readiness against this day. 'Tomorrow may be thine,' ran its somewhat hectoring inscription, 'if thy hand be strong enough to grasp it.'

  The same note of doubt about her husband's capabilities permeates her description of him taking the oath before Parliament on the day of their accession. 'He was neither loved nor unloved,' she wrote, 'he was a closed book; no one knew his thoughts, but he might be as the dawn of something greater, might become the fulfiller of a long-dreamed-of dream.'

  She leaves one in no doubt whatsoever about her country's appreciation of her abilities.

  'I stood somewhat apart, with my children around me, a long black mourning veil covering my face. My heart-beats were as the feet of Fate.

  'I hardly heard the King's voice, nor his words, but I heard how they acclaimed him, their King of tomorrow, a long thunder of applause rolled round the walls.

  'Then suddenly my name ran through space:

  "Regina Maria . . ."

  'And there was something in the way they called out my name that had within it a sound of hope.

  " 'Regina Maria . . ."

  'I suddenly felt that I must bare my face before the whole house, that I must turn towards them with no veil of mourning between them and myself.

  'A great clamour mounted to the vault above, something long drawn out and tremendous that came irresistibly from many hearts!

  " 'Regina Maria . . ."

  'And we faced each other then, my people and I.

  'And that was my hour – mine – an hour it is not given to many to live; for at that moment it was not only an idea, not only a tradition or a symbol they were acclaiming, but a woman; a woman they loved.

  'And at that hour I knew that I had won, that the stranger, the girl who had come from over the seas, was a stranger no more; I was theirs with every drop of my blood!

  'Disappointment, sorrow, misfortune might follow, for are we not all in the hands of God? But that hour when we stood looking into each other's eyes, all their many faces turned towards my face, was my hour . . . my people turning towards me as though I were their supremest hope. . . .'

  Of false modesty, Queen Marie of Romania could never be accused.

  2

  Queen Sophie of the Hellenes was on her way back from her usual summer holiday in England when war broke out. After ensuring that her cousin, King George V, would see that two of her children still at Eastbourne were sent after her, she returned to Athens. Here she found her husband, King Constantine, determined that Greece should remain neutral. The conflict did not directly concern Greece; the country had no reason to side with any of the belligerents. Moreover, the recent successful Balkan wars had left Greece exhausted and depleted. To consolidate her gains, she needed a long period of peace. These were the views, not only of the King, but of the General Staff and the majority of the Greek people.

  They were not, however, the views of the Prime Minister, Venizelos. He, and his adherents, were all for Greece joining the Entente Powers immediately. Only by throwing in their lot with France and England could the Greeks hope to realize their great dream of a new Byzantium. With Turkey allied to Germany, there seemed no reason why Greece could not, by joining the Entente, finally win Constantinople from the Turks.

  This conflict between King and Prime Minister came to a climax early in 1915. The British were about to attack the Dardanelles. Here, reckoned Venizelos, was Greece's golden opportunity. She must join the attack. But the General Staff could not agree. Militarily, it would be too risky an adventure. In protest at the scheme, the Chief of the General Staff resigned. His assessment of the situation was supported by the King. At this, Venizelos also resigned.

  The country was now divided into two irreconcilable camps. The fiery Venizelos, encouraged by Britain and France, came to symbolize 'The Great Idea' of an aggrandized Hellenic Empire, while the realistic Constantine, in clinging to neutrality, seemed suddenly to have become a stumbling-block to national aspirations.

  It was a situation of which the Entente Powers, anxious for Greek support, took immediate advantage. From now on Britain and, particularly, France, lost no opportunity of denouncing King Constantine. That he commanded the loyalty of the majority of his subjects was a fact they conveniently ignored. The most obvious way of blackening him was to accuse him of being pro-German. To support this contention, they cited his visit to Germany in the autumn of 1913. At a banquet given in Constantine's honour by Wilhelm II, the ebullient Kaiser had unexpectedly presented the King with a Field-Marshal's baton. Taken by surprise, Constantine had blurted out an impromptu speech of thanks in which he had made mention of the fact that
he had received his military training in Germany. The Kaiser, in drawing up a draft of the Greek King's reply for publication, slightly altered the emphasis. Constantine, out of politeness, made no objection. The subsequent publication of the speech, together with a photograph of Constantine in his German Field-Marshal's uniform, caused a furore, especially in France. Constantine was astounded. When chided by his secretary for having agreed to the Kaiser's version, the King's answer was typically artless. 'How was I supposed to know that the thing would be telegraphed all over Europe?'

  Now, two years later, the King's speech was being cited as 'irrefutable proof of his pro-German leanings. Not only in the French and British Press but in Greek newspapers sympathetic to Venizelos, Constantine was constantly under attack. He was accused of 'using a veil of treacherous neutrality to hide his pro-German sympathies'. He was, they claimed, an autocrat acting in defiance of the popular will as epitomized by Venizelos – 'the voice of the people'. With funds provided by the intelligence sections set up in the French and British legations in Athens, local propagandists became more and more virulent in their abuse.

  Nothing that Constantine could say in his defence carried any weight. He could protest that King George V was also a German Field-Marshal, and that Kaiser Wilhelm II was a British one. He could claim that he was neither pro-German nor pro-Allies but pro-Greek; that to admire the German army made him no more a German sympathizer than to admire the British Navy made him pro-British. He could prove that he had held firm in the face of the Kaiser's threats to attack Greece unless she joined the Central Powers. (To Constantine's reasons for neutrality, Wilhelm II had answered 'Rubbish'.) He could point out that Germany's allies, Turkey and Bulgaria, were his enemies.

  It was all to no effect. His justifications were never even given an airing by the Allied censors. 'We wanted to run into the streets and cry out that the things they said about my father were not true,' exclaimed one of his daughters afterwards.