As if to assure himself that his new wife was unhurt, Alfonso clasped her face gently in his hands and asked in an anxious voice, “Are you wounded?” Quickly, Ena answered, “No, no, I am not hurt. I swear it.” Alfonso then said, “A bomb has been thrown,” to which Ena answered, “So I had thought, but it does not matter. I will show you that I know how to be Queen.”10
Demonstrating great courage, Alfonso took charge almost immediately. He ordered up an empty carriage—the “carriage of respect” that always accompanied the royal one. When Alfonso and Ena alighted to change carriages, they met with a scene straight out of a battlefield: mangled bodies everywhere. With the stench of blood and death in the air, the impact of the attack began to sink in. In front of Ena were “disembowelled men and horses. As she made her way to the other coach she had to step aside to avoid the headless body of a bugler. Not far away lay a civil guard, his legs severed and bleeding freely”11 The newly married queen could have been forgiven had she fainted, for her stomach must have churned wildly. But to her credit, the shaken Ena remained calm. She was also concerned for the safety and well-being of others, telling an equerry, “Please take care of yourself, you’re wounded. Don’t bother about us.”12
The bomb did not deter the crowds from cheering their young sovereigns. On the contrary, as one eyewitness related: “You should have heard the ovation they got, all of us yelling ourselves hoarse, & balancing on window-ledges…in their Court trains, tiaras, & mantillas waving wildly”13
Once in the new carriage, Alfonso turned his attention back to Ena, asking: “Tell me the truth, tell it without tears; are you wounded?” His wife replied, “No, I am not wounded, I was thinking only of thee.”14 From the nearby British Embassy, some of the staff and guests who were being entertained there emerged; officers of the 16th Lancers, along with Colonel and Lady Cochrane, who were close friends of Ena’s mother, and the British ambassador, Sir Maurice de Bunsen. Mrs. George Young, wife of the second secretary at the embassy, who witnessed the bombing, related how “before the poor girl [Ena] had time to faint or realise, she was surrounded by her own countrymen & they made a bodyguard of scarlet & gold close round the carriage.”15 In this manner, Ena’s countrymen bravely escorted her carriage on foot toward the Royal Palace.
By the time she arrived, Ena was nearly hysterical, though outwardly she still appeared calm. She was heard to utter repeatedly: “I saw a man without any legs! I saw a man without any legs!” It was an unbelievably horrific day. The shocking news made headlines all over the world.
The man who attempted the assassination was a deranged Spaniard by the name of Mateo Morral. Foiled in his first attempt in church, Morral instead aimed for the king and queen along the Calle Mayor. After being captured, Morral shot dead the policeman who arrested him, then put the gun to his own heart and pulled the trigger. He died instantly.
After her initial hysteria, Ena’s training came into play. As a product of the court of Queen Victoria, where restraint and decorum were prized and encouraged, Ena very quickly gained her composure. Now a queen, she knew that she must act with the requisite dignity and bearing. After all, Queen Victoria had shown the way when she greeted the attacks upon her in the course of her long reign with courage and calmness. Ena instinctively put into action the words Queen Victoria had repeatedly uttered to her: “Young woman, when one is born a Princess, one cannot behave like others.”17
Determined to cause as little commotion as possible amidst all the confusion, and above all, wanting Alfonso to be proud of his new wife and queen, Ena took charge. To the admiration of the bewildered guests assembled in the Royal Palace for the wedding reception, Ena’s dignity and Alfonso’s courage had shone through. Princess May noted that “Nothing could have been braver than the young couple were, but what a beginning for her.”18 A French diplomat concurred: “Poor little King, poor little Queen…there has been no massacre parallel to this in the history of assassination attempts against monarchs…and the Queen will always keep the horrible impression of death and of the dead as a remembrance of her wedding day”19 Ena herself admitted to being stunned. In reply to a message from the Bishop of Ripon, she telegraphed back: “So grateful for kind sympathy in the cruel shock at the beginning of our happiness. May we further be preserved.”20
When Sir Maurice de Bunsen, who had escorted the carriage into the Royal Palace, came upon the royal guests assembled there, he was besieged with questions. After giving details to the Prince of Wales, he also spoke to Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Amidst the excited guests assembled, one showed absolute sang-froid: Marie, Duchess of Coburg, mother of the future Queen Marie of Romania. Born a Grand Duchess of Russia, Ena’s aunt Marie was a formidable woman whose own father, Tsar Alexander II, was blown to bits by an anarchist’s bomb. Her brother, Grand Duke Serge, met the same gruesome fate just over a year before Ena’s wedding. Now, while everyone was reeling from the shock, Marie shrugged it off by saying censoriously to anyone who cared to hear: “Moi, je suis tellement accoutumée à ces sortes de choses.”21
Throughout the wedding meal, people strained to bring some semblance of normality to the proceedings. But it was difficult. Nevertheless, Ena’s composure was exceptional. Ironically, a number of individuals already were reacting to the queen’s calmness with suspicion and misunderstanding. Some remained unimpressed by Victoria Eugenie’s lack of hysterics. They would now watch her every move with great care. Unluckily for her, she was being labeled as “distant.” And in a nation of people who prized exuberance and great demonstrations of emotion, Ena began to be suspected “of being all the things most Spaniards least admired: cold, aloof, insensitive, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant at heart and (in upper-class eyes) ‘liberal.’ “22
Princess Beatrice’s concern centered on the bride and groom. Writing to the Bishop of Ripon of the “painfully eventful moments we have been through, the memories of which can never be effaced,” Beatrice went on:
It does seem so sad, that a day which had begun so brightly for the young couple, and where they were just returning with such thankful happiness, at belonging at last entirely to one another, should have been overclouded by such a fearful disaster. God has indeed [been] merciful to have preserved them so miraculously, and this has only if possible deepened their love for one another, and rendered the devotion of their people still more marked.23
The day after their wedding, Ena and Alfonso drove unattended through Madrid’s streets in an open car, to the delight of their subjects. The queen remained dignified in her demeanor. Still reeling from all that had happened, a smiling Ena could not shake off her natural reserve and “visibly shrank back” when the crowds came close to her. Ena’s biographer has noted, “She thus failed to gain, then or ever, a deep rapport with the Spanish masses.”24 It was an understandable reaction considering that the drive with Alfonso nearly frightened Ena out of her wits. People fought to be near her, and “the Queen’s dress was actually torn to shreds by the multitude who sought to kiss the hem of her garment.”25 She was better able to cope with more sedate crowds, such as those at the Royal Palace.
There, Ena could face the deferential courtiers and guests who greeted her in a flurry of bows and curtsies. Yet some of these same people would come to judge their queen in much harsher terms than Ena could ever have imagined. Before Ena left for her new life, Princess Beatrice wrote to a friend about her thoughts on the wedding and her daughter’s future: “I am glad to say Ena has now quite recovered from the shock, and looks fresh and well, and beamingly happy. That such a thing could happen, makes the parting naturally still harder for me, but we must trust in God to protect her still further, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that she is already beloved in her new country.
Alfonso and Ena were more than happy to escape Madrid for a tranquil six-week honeymoon at the Palace of La Granja at San Idelfonso. Away from the busy capital, residing in a magnificent palace surrounded by beautifully laid out parks high up in the Castilian Mountains, Ena could fina
lly relax and have her husband to herself. With time on her hands, the young bride reflected on the unforgettable day that saw her become Alfonso’s wife and Spain’s queen while escaping an assassination attempt. Ena described the bombing and her reaction to it to a friend in England:
My wedding day is a perfect nightmare to me & I positively shudder when I look back on it now. The bomb was so utterly unexpected that until it was all over I did not realise what had happened, then even I was not frightened. It was only when I got into the other carriage that I saw such fearful horrors & then I knew what an awful danger we had gone through. My poor husband saw his best friend, a young officer, fall down dead beside our coach fearfully mutilated & that upset him very much.—We are spending now a delicious time together in this lovely old Palace in the mountains & it all seems like a bad dream to us now.27
Alfonso’s attentiveness helped to ease the memory of her horrible wedding day. Above all, Alfonso was obviously very much in love with her. In his eyes, Ena could do no wrong. Content in that knowledge, Ena faced her future with hope. Within a year, however, the eighteen-year-old queen’s world would explode again. This time, there would be no crowds to cheer her on, and more ominously, cracks would begin to appear in Alfonso’s love for his lovely young wife.
Twelve
NORWAY S ENGLISH QUEEN
FOUR DAYS AFTER MAUD STOOD AT HER HUSBAND S SIDE AT AMALIENBORG Palace to assume the crown of Norway, she and Haakon boarded the Danish royal yacht, Dannebrog, bound for their new kingdom. Not far from Christiania, the capital of their new kingdom, King Haakon VII and Queen Maud were welcomed to Norway by Christian Michelsen, the prime minister, who had spearheaded the country’s move toward independence. Wealthy, confident, witty, physically large and imposing, Michelsen gave the formal welcoming speech:
To-day a King of Norway comes to make his home in the Norwegian capital, elected by a free people to occupy, conjointly with free men, the first place in the land. The Norwegian people love their liberty, their independence, and their autonomous government, which they themselves have won. It will be the glory of the King and his highest pleasure to protect this sentiment, finding his support in the people themselves. This is why the Norwegian people hail you to-day with profound joy and cry, “Long live the King and Queen of Norway!”1
In some ways this was an extraordinarily bold speech, which appeared at once both threatening and welcoming. Michelsen underscored that Haakon and Maud were ascending the throne not by the grace of God but by the grace of the people themselves; should they forget this in the future, Michelsen’s speech made it appear as if the people would not hesitate to make their displeasure known.
The Times correspondent who witnessed the royal welcome was struck not so much by the brightly decorated streets as by the excitement of the Norwegian people themselves, for “none who heard the cheering which greeted King Haakon and his Queen, and in particular, little Prince Olaf, and saw the faces of those who cheered could fail to realize that they were indeed the chosen of the people.”2 Maud’s mother, Queen Alexandra, wrote proudly of the welcome given to her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson at Christiania, saying: “Maud and Charles were received with open arms.” Even more glowing words were reserved for Maud’s son: “the success of Christiania is little Olaf (my little Hamlet) who took them all by storm.”3 The couple’s arrival in Norway was immediately followed by Queen Maud’s own thirty-sixth birthday. In her honor, salutes were fired from the fort of Akershus and from battleships in the harbor.
In the middle of December 1905, Maud wrote to her sister-in-law, May. Retiring and modest woman that she was, Maud revealed her incredulity at her new position: “Behold! I am a Queen!!! Who would have thought it! And I am the very last person to be stuck on a throne! I am actually getting accustomed to be called ‘Your Majesty!’ and yet often pinch myself to feel if I am not dreaming!”4 Based on her own family background and the precedent of inviting royals to assume thrones in foreign lands, these were rather surprising words. Maud was, after all, a daughter of the King and Queen of England, who could boast as her paternal grandmother and maternal grandfather Queen Victoria and King Christian IX of Denmark.
One problem that had to be addressed, and quickly, was the question of accommodations. Though Maud settled her family into the Royal Palace at Christiania, this cavernous building of over 150 rooms left a lot to be desired. However much the Royal Palace was meant to impress, it somehow failed to do so. One contemporary wrote that although the Kongens Slot, as it is called in Norwegian, “looks well at the end of a vista, especially in the enchanting glow of the long northern twilight, it is actually one of the meanest palaces in Europe.” If one could find an apt quote for the Slot and the hill on which it is perched, wrote this same visitor, one could say that here was “the finest site in Europe and nothing to show on it!”5 A showpiece rather than an inhabited home, years of inactivity had turned the Royal Palace into a neglected pile since its completion in the middle of the nineteenth century. When the family moved in, it could not have seemed more daunting: with no lavatory, only a few baths, running water nonexistent, and little furniture. Maud had her work cut out for her.
Now that a new king and queen were established in Norway’s capital, all that was needed was a coronation. It was the sort of event that Maud always dreaded. The thought that she was to play a very public part in this spectacle was already sending the timid queen into fits of anxiety as early as March 1906, still three months away from the ceremony. “It all haunts me like an awful nightmare this Coronation and that it is just to be ours of all people,” she wrote to Princess May. “Think of me alone on my throne, having a crown to be shoved on my head which is very small and heavy by the aged Bishop, and a Minister and also has to be put on by them before the whole crowd!! and oil to put on my head, hands and bosom!! Gracious, it will be awful!
When the time came, Queen Maud and King Haakon set off for the city of Trondheim, the site of past coronations of the ancient monarchs of Denmark-Norway founded in A.D. 997 by a Viking king and set just five hundred kilometers below the Arctic Circle.
First to be crowned on 22 June 1906 at Nidaros Cathedral was the king. After receiving the orb and scepter, Haakon VII made his way back to the throne and awaited the crowning of his queen. When the moment came, Maud acquitted herself with dignity and grace, though her nerves were certainly tested. One witness thought she looked pale “as she walked up the long choir, returning the salutations on each side of her.” After being anointed, Maud was crowned and handed the orb and scepter. Kneeling, she received a blessing from the bishop. Thereupon, deafening salutes were fired from the warships anchored outside. As the “anointed and crowned Queen of Norway,” Maud “slowly and gracefully” returned to her throne to cries of: “Long live the King and Queen” echoing from all sides of the cathedral.7
The election and coronation proved too much for the elderly Augusta, Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, who blunty told May, her niece: “A revolutionary Coronation! such a farce, I don’t like your being there for it, it looks like sanctioning all that nasty Revolution.…How can a future K. & Q. of E. go to witness a Coronation ‘par la grace du Peuple et de la Révolution!!!’ makes me sick and I should say, you too.” May tried to make the best of it, answering that “the whole thing seems curious, but we live in very modern days.”8
From the time she set foot in Norway, Maud tried as best she could to become a conscientious queen. Far from being solely preoccupied during these early years with the modernization and redecoration of the Royal Palace, Maud took it upon herself to support causes she felt needed her imprimatur. One involved the plight of unmarried mothers in Norway—a cause that was certainly ahead of her time. Not only did the queen support this cause; she actually took “a leading role in subscribing to a home” for such women and, even more daring, attended “a public meeting on its behalf.” It was a brave move that “flew in the face of ‘respectable’ opinion among those who considered such good wo
rks to be beneath them.”9
Maud also learned the language and even took up skiing lessons in order to share the Norwegians’ love of this sport. Kongsseteren—a log chalet that was a gift from the Norwegian people—located on Holmenkollen Mountain (within present-day Oslo) became a favorite home for Maud. The chalet epitomized the rustic indigenous style. A far cry from the formal Royal Palace, Kongsseteren was homey and informal, truly suited to the domestic queen.
Another equally appealing home awaited Maud at the Bygdøy estate. Originally on an island and part of a medieval monastery, Bygdøy was not far from Christiania and commanded a lovely view of the city. Maud and Haakon settled there soon after their coronation. In time, it became Maud’s favorite home next to Appleton. Here she could lead the carefree country life she so ardently craved; and it was here that Maud could truly indulge in her desire to re-create a corner of England in her Norwegian kingdom. The house consisted of a low-lying eighteenth-century building; surrounding it were gardens that Maud created in the English style.
Haakon was to be known as “Herre Konge” or plain “Mr. King” instead of the more normal “Your Majesty”—evidence of the highly democratic character of the Norwegian monarchy. This was a result, noted one contemporary, of the fact that Norway at the time of the accession was republican “to the backbone.”10 When Sir Frederick Ponsonby, equerry to Edward VII, visited Christiania in 1908, he admitted that the place was “so socialistic that a King and Queen seemed out of place.”11
Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria Page 21
