The Last Princess (29 page)

While her mother remained at Windsor, Beatrice gave in to her reiterated admonitions, Moretta reporting on 6 June, ‘Auntie Beatrice has now left her sofa and tries to walk about a little.’
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The same day the Queen departed for Balmoral, leaving Beatrice in her absence to recover as suited her best.

There would be one more child for Beatrice and Liko – to the Queen's disappointment a third son, born, like Ena, at Balmoral, on 3 October 1891. On this occasion, both pregnancy and confinement were uneventful. ‘Thank God! dear Auntie seems to get better and stronger each time,’ the Queen wrote to Victoria of Battenberg. She also expressed the hope that ‘she will stop now for many reasons'.
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The Queen did not elaborate on those many reasons, but was aware of criticism in the gutter press at the proliferation of the Battenberg brood. She worried, too, at the speedy arrival of Beatrice and Liko's children and the strain on Beatrice's health, which she continued to regard as fragile: ‘Poor dear Auntie is well… but it depresses me to see her carrying about this great burthen,’ she had written to Victoria of Battenberg towards the end of Beatrice's last pregnancy.
⁴²
(Increasingly, the princess herself appeared anything but fragile, her figure solidifying irrevocably with the after-effects of four pregnancies.) This baby was christened Maurice (Liko's middle name) Victor (after the Queen) Donald (a compliment to Scotland), the Prince Consort's silver-gilt font travelling north
for the occasion, and handed over to the care of his wet nurse and faithful monthly nurse Mrs Brotherstone.

Four children constituted a smaller family than those of her eldest siblings, but for Beatrice, who must at times have doubted she would have any children, her three robust-seeming sons and golden-haired daughter were a source of considerable satisfaction. Despite her limited maternal sympathies, her children would bring her both pleasure and support. In the short term, with her family complete, she was free to return to the Queen's service.

EIGHTEEN

‘Capital fun’

The
Colliery Guardian,
as its name suggests, was not a publication that habitually interested itself in the Royal Family. On 30 August 1889, however, the paper devoted a whole page to a visit made by Beatrice and Liko to the Wynnstay Collieries, half a mile from Ruabon in North Wales.

The couple were in Wales for the Queen's five-day visit to the principality. On the morning of 26 August they toured the colliery above and below ground, both cut lumps of coal from the coalface with picks, and Beatrice ‘fired a shot’ (a controlled explosion for blasting coal). The visit came as a surprise to the miners at work that day. Beatrice had asked that her plans not be disclosed in advance, as she wished to see for herself the everyday workings of the colliery. Improbably, the paper attributed the visit to ‘the Princess Beatrice having often expressed a wish to descend a coalpit and see the operations there, in order that she might know by experience and observation what life in a colliery is'. At the end of the visit the chairman of the Wynnstay Collieries Company expressed the thanks of all present for Beatrice's interest and condescension: ‘I am sure all your hearts are fired with gratitude that her Royal Highness has gone through this colliery and has seen the coal won, and has actually won some for herself… She has also fired a shot and brought down the coal. I think all this shows that sympathy for the working man of this country for which her Royal Highness and her Majesty the Queen are so much beloved.’ Further to prove that sympathy, the paper's reporter noted that, ‘Before departing, her Royal Highness conveyed to [the chairman] her desire that the men of the colliery might be released from their duties for the
remainder of the day, and that no portion of their wages should on that account be deducted.’
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The Queen was ahead of her time in foreseeing and in part applauding the inevitable future breakdown of class barriers in Britain. She insisted on rigorous standards of courtesy towards servants and frequently lamented the tendency of the Prussian royal family to bring up its children in a social vacuum, with no feeling for those below them. Part of this attitude she passed on to Beatrice. But only up to a point. During her visit to the Wynnstay Collieries Beatrice's interest in the day-to-day business of the coal mine was genuine. But what she saw that day did not change her life; she did not afterwards express a desire to improve such working conditions or the living conditions of miners’ wives and families. Beatrice was not an idealist, as her sister Alice had been. Hers was a conventional royal attitude of polite interest and encouragement. It may be, as several of her contemporaries claimed, that Beatrice was simply lacking in imagination, but it is more likely that she considered such issues outside her province, the sphere of politicians not princesses, a line the Queen would have encouraged – though frequently not the attitude she adopted herself.

The visit to the Wynnstay Collieries leavened seriousness with humour.

Although… the royal visit was not made for amusement or to gratify mere curiosity [concluded the
Colliery Guardian's
correspondent], the party appeared to derive a considerable amount of entertainment from the proceedings. It was particularly noticeable that the little discomforts inseparable from a visit to the underground workings of a colliery by persons not accustomed to them were regarded by all the members of the royal party as capital fun.

Fun was a commodity that for too long had been in short supply at court. The Queen remained aloof from fashionable society, which she regarded as frivolous, self-seeking and of questionable morals. The tone of her own homes was conspicuously higher,
more earnest and less colourful. Courtiers’ most frequent observations concerned their boredom, the sameness of the royal routine and the limited outlets for high spirits, which in any case were discouraged. But the Queen was not averse to pleasure or entertainment, particularly once the death of the assertively dour John Brown had removed a major obstacle to light-heartedness. In the decade of Beatrice's marriage the Queen espoused a programme of whimsical court entertainments. At the centre of this innovation was the child whose status as last princess, born too close to her father's death, had hitherto prevented her from taking part in such diversions: Beatrice.

Though the Queen had circumscribed Beatrice's pastimes before her marriage, shielding her from romantic temptation, she had sought to ensure that Beatrice was not bored by her life at her mother's side. There were trips to the theatre in London with Leopold, games of bezique after dinner and pianists invited to play at Osborne. Young women being considered for the post of maid of honour were required to answer a number of questions, including whether they were able to ride (to accompany Beatrice), play the piano and sight-read easily in order to play duets with her.
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It was assumed that they could speak, read and write French and German, as this was essential for their work with the Queen. If this supplemented a facility for sight-reading and a well-trained voice, they could also sing after dinner, varying the pattern of in-house entertainment. Marie Mallet described to Lady Elizabeth Biddulph an evening in the New Year of 1888 when

I was summoned to warble duets with Prince Henry, fearfully difficult sections from Gounod's operas, which
he
knew
perfectly well
and which I was expected to sing at sight. I enacted the role of Juliet, Mireille, and I do not know what else while he shouted violent sentiments such as
‘ange adorable!’
at me and at one moment it was so comic that I nearly laughed outright; he has a good voice but cannot manage it and sings with very little expression. Princess Beatrice accompanied us and smiled benignly.
³

Liko had clearly taken to heart the advice the Queen gave him through Victoria of Battenberg prior to his engagement: ‘I hope
that Liko will practice his Music – as you know what an essential thing that is for Auntie.’
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There is less evidence that he paid heed to the Queen's parting shot – ‘and English also'. The Battenbergs were Germans, partly brought up in Italy; their mother spoke to them in French but employed German, Swiss and English servants; holidays were spent with Russian cousins. The Queen's admonishing suggests that, when she first encountered him, Liko spoke English only falteringly, and it is possible that, early in his marriage, his command of the language remained hesitant. This would explain his enthusiastic participation in the elaborate (mute)
tableaux vivants
that became such a feature of court life during Beatrice's marriage, while he apparently took no part in the court theatricals that ran in tandem with them. His mother had a passion for amateur dramatics and Liko was not averse to acting. He satisfied the taste in a form that required neither linguistic nor even (much) dramatic ability.

Tableaux vivants
had been part of the childhood of Beatrice's elder siblings, staged by the children for their parents’ entertainment, intended as an adjunct to the rigorous educational programme then obtaining and also as a means of the children showing off. When the
tableaux
were revived, in 1888, they were altogether a more adult affair, though the Queen remained the target audience: an early performance ended with ‘Homage to Queen Victoria’, a bust of the Queen wreathed in flowers, surrounded by her ladies, with the band playing ‘Home, Sweet Home’. For the Queen, an important purpose of these revived grown-up
tableaux
was to show off to advantage her daughter's good looks.

The
tableaux
were arranged into programmes, with an emphasis on variety between scenes depicted. Each had two poses and each frozen pose was shown twice, by virtue of dropping and raising a curtain. All were elaborately costumed – when Beatrice personified ‘India’, she did so, the Queen recorded, ‘wearing quantities of my Indian jewellery’
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– and accompanied by music. In May 1894 Beatrice provided the musical accompaniment single-handedly, singing and playing on the harmonium; her offerings included a song entitled ‘Three Fishers’, which the
Queen described as ‘extremely effective’.
⁶
On Twelfth Night 1888 Beatrice and Liko represented Elizabeth and Raleigh (‘The Princess looked so handsome as Queen Elizabeth and quite like a Holbein,’ commented Marie Mallet
⁷
), followed by Beatrice as the Queen of Sheba opposite Sir Henry Ponsonby as Solomon, then Liko as a toreador in
Carmen,
alongside Minnie Cochrane, Harriet Phipps and Marie Mallet. A particularly ambitious programme scheduled for 5 and 6 October of the same year commemorated Liko's birthday (5 October), the first letter of the name of each scene spelling his names, ‘Henry Maurice’, with ‘Henry’ given on the first night, ‘Maurice’ on the second. Although Liko was the intended recipient of this elaborate compliment, he still took part, appearing as Malcolm with Beatrice as Queen Margaret in ‘Malcolm Canmore’ for ‘M’. Perhaps on account of Beatrice's increasingly stately appearance in the years following the births of her children, a noticeable feature of the
tableaux
is the augustness of the roles she personified: Boadicea, St Elizabeth of Hungary, Henrietta Maria and Marie Antoinette. Even allegorical impersonations wore a regal aspect: in ‘Twelfth Night’ Beatrice appeared as the Queen of the Revels, an unlikely persona. For the most part, the Queen was enchanted. ‘“Fotheringay” represented the moment when poor Mary Queen of Scots, took leave of her ladies,’ she recorded in her Journal on 20 January 1890. ‘Louise looked lovely as the Queen standing on the steps looking up, and Beatrice as her half-sister the Duchess of Argyle, leaning against her… Louise's expression was beautiful and sad beyond measure. Beatrice also looked sweet, with hands upraised, and looking up as in prayer. Mozart's Ave Verum was played during this scene.’
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Not everyone enjoyed the
tableaux.
They were rehearsed exhaustively and sometimes even photographed, which demanded in effect an additional performance. In January 1890 three of that year's five Twelfth Night
tableaux
were repeated at the end of the month, when the Empress Eugenie arrived at Osborne to stay, ‘with the addition of one from “Faust” in which Beatrice looked lovely as Gretchen’.
⁹
Dr Reid considered them a waste of time, though for his purposes a valuable waste of time – a
recognition of at least part of their purpose: ‘They have given me a part to play, and I could not get out of it, though I tried to, as it takes up so much time… The tableaux begin tomorro w and will, I hope, keep the people from thinking of at least their
imaginary
ailments, which are very common among the sort of people I have to deal with.’
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