King George V
Part Three, Chapter Thirteen: A Very Important Night Indeed
At Downing Street, the Prime Minister donned his hat and cloak and waited for his carriage which was to convey him the short distance to Buckingham Palace for his private audience with the King. But at that moment, Charlie Phipps arrived. It appeared that the King, sending his compliments, had requested that the audience be rescheduled to 8am the following morning – a particularly early call – which would allow the King to head for the Port of London to catch the 10.30 packet steamer bound for the continent. Graham rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed, removed his cloak and hat and invited Phipps to join him for a quick bite of supper and a glass of champagne. A spectre of old was emerging and the King’s actions gave Graham pause for thought as he reflected on something he had dismissed just two nights previously but which now he considered may need closer attention - and discussion with the King's closest advisor. Simply put, there was a growing feeling among some in the corridors of government that the King was spending too much time abroad. In December 1842, the King travelled to Paris before moving on for the Christmas celebrations at Neustrelitz. Nobody could much object to that given the circumstances, after all, 1842 marked the first Christmas the King spent as a widower and he had chosen to do so in the supportive atmosphere of his in-laws’ palace. He had returned a little later than planned because of the surprise reunion with his sister, the pair moving on to the Netherlands before George reached London once more in late January 1843. But now he was off on his travels again.
Ostensibly, the King was crossing the water for Hanover Week. He had missed the opportunity to attend in 1842 because he was still in mourning for Queen Louise and though he had paid a courtesy visit to the Kingdom on his journey to Neustrelitz for Christmas that year, now he wished to involve himself fully in the pageantry of the project he had established two years earlier. But the schedule was not limited to a week in Hanover plus travel time – which in those days was far lengthier than it is today. Graham looked over the King’s agenda which would see him take a week’s private holiday at Trechtinghausen before moving on to Coburg. He had not seen Hereditary Duke Ernst for some time and perhaps motivated by certain feelings of guilt in the way Ernst’s new bride, Alexandrine of Baden, had been treated by a branch of his own family, the King wished to pay a call to Ernst to congratulate him in person on his recent marriage. From Coburg, the King would travel to Leipzig. With Princess Augusta now married, she could no longer reside at Gaussig, the private residence the King and Queen leased for the Princess Royal so that she would not have to board at the Heinicke School. Changes would have to be made to the household there and the King wished to oversee them personally. Leaving Leipzig, he would then visit Brunswick before finally arriving in Hanover where he would remain for a week before coming back to England – diplomatically avoiding another visit to his cousin Victoria at Het Loo, the last having been something of an ordeal. In total, the King would be absent for 6 weeks which, in addition to his earlier travels, meant that for the 12 months of 1843, George V would be resident in England for just 10 of them.
In some ways, this was not unusual or excessive. The court always moved in the summer months, in previous reigns to Windsor or Hanover, and there was actually little work for the Sovereign to undertake as parliament was in recess. Indeed, King George II often used to insist that the parliamentary session be brought to a swift conclusion so that he could make his way to Herrenhausen for the start of his own summer holiday. Most ministers left the capital around June or July and headed for their country estates, or the continent, before returning some time in September and this is why Sir James had not objected when Hanover Week was first proposed. But there was another reason. The more time the King spend abroad, the less time he had to involve himself in politics – particularly where the Foreign Office was concerned – and that came as a great relief to Sir James personally. The problem was that Britain had seen this same situation not so long ago and at a dinner party around this time, the Prime Minister was somewhat taken aback to hear a stark reminder of the past over his grouse and claret.
At Harcourt House in Cavendish Square, the Marquis of Titchfield was giving a supper party for a few friends. The eccentric Marquess, best known for his love of tunnels which relayed into a vast network of underground passages built beneath his country estate at Welbeck Abbey, had just returned from Venice and was telling his guests how impressed he was by the city as a holiday destination. A fellow diner, Lord Powerscourt, boasted that he had unique access to a hunting lodge in the Black Forest, a far more superior vacation spot than the dirty canals of crowded Venice.
“And what do you hunt there?”, Lady Eglinton asked, “Is it something very rare?”
“It is rather”, Powerscourt grinned like a naughty schoolboy, “We hunt for
German George! Why, that is the only place you’re like to see His Majesty these days, what?”
The table was suddenly plunged into hysterical laughter. Sir James gave a polite half-smile. But he was far from amused.
German George was a nickname given to George V’s great-great-grandfather George II and was far from an affectionate moniker. He frequently spent his summers in Hanover and as his reign progressed, faced open criticism for it. Much was made of the fact that George II seemed to head for Herrenhausen with alarming regularity because it was the only place he could entertain his mistress (Amalie von Wallmoden) away from the prying eyes of his wife Queen Caroline. But when Caroline died and Amalie moved to England, George still preferred to head for his “other Kingdom” at the first opportunity. His tangled romantic life aside, the most obvious reason for this was that George II was a Hanoverian. He was born at Herrenhausen in 1683, reluctantly accompanying his father to England in 1714 when Queen Anne’s health declined and the family were told to hold themselves in readiness for the accession of King George I. When he came to the throne in 1727, King George II made no attempt to curtail his interests in Hanover and as a result, people began to regard him as a remote and foreign stranger who only served to remind them that the Hanoverians had no real connection to England beyond their ancestry.
King George II.
It did not help that George II was dull, boorish and easily caricatured. When Dr Johnson wrote some very unkind verses about George and his mistress, the press feigned outrage but the public lapped it up. In response to Johnson’s attack on him, George II was said to have remarked bitterly “I hate all poets and painters” – but the press satirised this as “I hate all
boets and
bainters”, playing both on George’s apparent lack of interest in the arts but also parodying his heavy German accent. The public quickly caught on and in the absence of any real affection for the man, they dubbed the King
German George. When he died, they showed little in the way of public grief and it would take many years for George III to win back their trust and respect. He did so by portraying himself as an English country gentleman – and by never visiting Hanover. George V took a more middle of the road approach in trying both to maintain his first priority to the United Kingdom whilst giving some recognition at least to the fact that he was also King of Hanover.
The Prime Minister had no concern that the King was unpopular with the public, indeed, if anybody had restored the public’s affection for the Royal Family in the last decade or so, it was George V. Yet if these (admittedly ungenerous) observations were being made at the dining tables of the aristocracy, it would not take long before the press barons and the satirists picked them up. Anticipating a crisis, Graham was put in the unfortunate position of trying to convince the King to cut short his travels but he could not do so directly. Instead, he sought the help of Charlie Phipps, the King’s Private Secretary, presenting the case to him over supper that there were a few unpleasant stirrings in some quarters that the King might be spending too much time abroad. Phipps raised an eyebrow.
“I concede His Majesty was abroad for longer than expected at last year’s Christmastide”, he said sternly, “But previous visits were made with government approval Prime Minister. And Hanover Week likewise”.
“I quite agree”, Graham said forking anchovy toast into his mouth, “But before you depart tomorrow, you might consider this; if the likes of Lord Titchfield and Lord Powerscourt are indulging in such gossip in private, it will not be long before the press share such sentiments with the public. And whilst I do not believe they would share Lord Powerscourt’s view, even if it were a serious one which I am inclined to feel it is not, it may place His Majesty in an unfortunate position. And an unfair one”
Phipps felt his temper rising. He sipped his glass of champagne.
“Prime Minister, might I be frank with you?”
“Of course...”
“Are you asking me to tell His Majesty that he cannot go to Germany tomorrow?”
“I shouldn’t dream of it Phipps”, the Prime Minister said, shaking his head, “But I have to ask…is it really all that necessary for him to visit Coburg? Or Leipzig even? Surely these trips extend the holiday further without real value?”
Phipps stopped eating and placed his napkin on his plate.
“With respect Prime Minister”, he said, now clearly irritated, “I could quite understand your concerns if the King had obligations here during the summer months but as his role has been…limited…what does it matter if he holidays in Germany or in Windsor?”
“It matters a great deal”, Graham said trying to calm the situation, “I do not wish for the King to be unfairly accused of absconding-“
“Absconding?!”
“At the very least, indulging himself in excessive foreign tours”, Graham added hastily, “All I am proposing is that His Majesty consider this trip to be his last - for a time. At least until Hanover Week next year”
Silence reigned for a moment.
“Forgive me Prime Minister”, Phipps said, almost accusingly, “But doesn’t that mean His Majesty will have more time to involve himself in state affairs?”
Graham smiled.
“Oh you needn’t worry about that Phipps”, he said calmly, “I believe His Majesty will be
far too busy”.
A week later and the King and Frau Wiedl, accompanied by Charlie Phipps and a new addition, Miss Henrietta Brown (Wiedl’s new companion), arrived at Burg Rheinstein. Rheinstein was a picture postcard schloss built on a mountainside near Trechtinghausen with exquisite views of the Rhine. It was built in 1316 and much valued for its strategic location but just 30 years later, it was almost completely abandoned and by the 19th century, fell into ruins. Then, along came Prince Frederick of Prussia looking for a holiday retreat to share with his new bride Princess Louise of Anhalt-Bernburg. He purchased the castle, rebuilt it and transformed Burg Rheinstein into one of the most luxurious private houses in Germany. Rheinstein had the added bonus of having exclusive access to Schloss Sooneck, a hunting lodge purchased by the future Frederick William IV and his brothers in 1834 and renovated for the purpose. The Prussian Royal Family frequently took their holidays moving between the two properties providing the perfect blend of entertainment and comfort. George V loved Rheinstein and always welcomed his visits there, especially as it meant spending time with Prince Alexander of Prussia (Prince Frederick’s eldest son). Though Alexander had struggled recently and had not behaved all that well, the King was fond of him and on this particular occasion he was pleased that there was no longer any ill-feeling between the Prince and Frau Wiedl.
The house party at Burg Rheinstein was intended to be a relatively modest one but expanded when it appeared that some of Alexander’s cousins had been offered the use of Schloss Sooneck for a few weeks. So it was that in addition to the King, Frau Wiedl, Prince Alexander and Prince Alexander’s younger brother Prince George, the “Prussian Uncles” came up to Rheinstein from Sooneck each evening for dinner. These uncles were Prince Wilhelm of Solms-Braunfels (with his morganatic wife Countess Maria Kinsky von Wchinitz und Tettau) and Prince Carl of Solms-Braunfels (with his mistress, Madeleine Buhr). Wilhelm and Carl were the sons of none other than Frederica of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, better known as the Duchess of Cumberland. She had been married three times and on each occasion, produced children so that the extended family came to include a host of half-brothers and half-sisters and they remained extremely close – on the whole. Wilhelm and Carl were half-brothers to George V’s cousin, the recently engaged George of Cumberland but it must be noted that George V wasn’t all that familiar with this branch of the family as for years the Cumberlands had lived in exile and so the King never really got the chance to meet his late aunt’s children until well into adulthood.
Burg Rheinstein today.
Another guest at Burg Rheinstein that year was the glamorous Dowager Duchess Hélène of Orléans, widowed in the same year as King George V and who had become something of a personal friend to him in recent months. George had visited Hélène to pay his respects and offer his condolences following the death of her husband when he passed through Paris in 1842 on his way to Neustrelitz and ever since, the pair had kept up a regular correspondence. But Prince Alexander had also formed a friendship with the Dowager Duchess. Most recently, he had spent Christmas with her in Switzerland and his invitation to Burg Rheinstein was no mere courtesy. After a string of unsuitable mistresses which made his parents mad with anxiety for his future (including Frau Wiedl), Alexander seemed to have taken a shine to Hélène and he confided to his younger brother around this time that he saw absolutely no reason as to why he should not marry her. Hélène was still young, still beautiful and though she married into the Catholic Royal Family of France, she had remained a Lutheran. She was known throughout Europe for her wit and glamour but there was something else too - something far less frothy. Hélène had a will of iron. An ambitious young woman, she defied her parents by accepting the proposal of marriage from the Duke of Orléans in 1837 not because she loved him or because she wished to live in the sumptuous comfort of Versailles – she accepted him because she wanted to be a Queen.
Though her husband was now dead, Hélène was insistent she should lose none of her position – or prospects. The House of Orléans had been plunged into a fierce debate with Ferdinand Phillipe’s death as to what might happen if King Louis-Philippe died whilst his new heir (Hélène’s eldest son, also called Louis-Philippe) was in his infancy. One side of the family felt the King’s second son, the Duke of Nemours, should be made regent were the worst to happen. But another side favoured Hélène and she was determined to secure her place as Regent of France in that eventuality come hell or high water. This was made easier for Hélène by the Duke of Nemour’s unpopularity. He was seen as brusque and haughty and he hated public ceremony but Hélène was only too happy to be seen in public and court their approval. When the matter came to a head, many expected Hélène to fight tooth and nail for her claim but she surprised everybody by withdrawing to her summer villa in Lausanne. It did not do for women to be seen scheming and plotting for power. She had every confidence that she would win out in the end and though she did not speak publicly of the future, her fierce devotion to ensuring her son attained his birthright was her first, and many might say only, priority in life.
Naturally there was some speculation in royal circles as to whether Hélène ever considered the possibility of setting her sights a little higher. After all, who would turn down the opportunity to become Queen of the United Kingdom instead of Regent of France? The answer is Hélène. Whilst she clearly admired George V, and whilst she liked him very much, she would never consider leaving her children to be raised by their grandfather – or their uncle, the Duke of Nemours. Indeed, Hélène never considered remarriage once she was widowed. To do so would remove her influence in Paris, something she was not inclined to give up regardless of her earlier yearnings to become a Queen. For his part, there is no indication that George ever considered Hélène as anything more than a friend, someone he was sympatico with because of their shared bereavement. Somewhat ignorant to the inner turmoils of the House of Orléans, George regarded Hélène as someone he could confide in and enjoy spending time with. But if he ever thought of her as anything more than that? We have no evidence of it. What we do know is that Hélène held fast to her convictions – and to her possible future in France – and even when Prince Alexander proposed to her some time later, she refused him. She was possibly more fond of Alexander than she was of King George, yet even this was not enough. She remained unmarried for the rest of her life.
The party at Burg Rheinstein was an incredibly lively one and the King even made inquiries as to whether there might be a similar property to acquire in the area so that he might always begin his trip to Hanover with a week at his own castle on the banks of the Rhine. Prince Alexander kindly offered him the use of Rheinstein whenever he wished but the King graciously declined, remarking “But Zander, your house is always so
busy”. Indeed it was. On the final night of the King’s stay at Trechtinghausen, the extended Prussian family at Schloss Sooneck were invited to a grand gala to be hosted by Alexander’s parents Prince Frederick and Princess Louise. This illustrious gathering saw the King reunited with his cousin Louise of Hesse-Kassel and her husband Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg, invited to join Christian’s sister Frederika and her husband the Duke of Anhalt-Bernburg, Princess Louise of Prussia’s brother. Prince Frederick’s sister was present too, also named Frederica, with her husband the Duke of Anhalt-Dessau and their children Princess Agnes, Hereditary Duke Frederick and Princess Maria Anna. [1]
The Anhalt-Dessaus were considered to be the poor relations of the House of Ascania. Duke Leopold IV succeeded his grandfather Leopold III in 1817 but though he inherited a substantial palace at Wörlitz and an equally impressive castle settled in the old gardens of the Oranienbaum, these had been acquired at huge personal expense leaving very little ready cash for Leopold IV to enjoy. His grandfather was regarded as a paragon of virtue, a liberal Anglophile heavily influenced by the Enlightenment. He built schools, he patronised the arts and sciences, he improved infrastructure and even provided social housing to his poorer subjects. Leopold III rejected the antisemitism of the age too, granting a sum of money to found a Jewish school and repealing old dictates which set discriminatory social policies against the Jewish community in his Duchy. But all this came at a cost. Whilst Anhalt-Dessau was one of the most modern and prosperous of all the small German states, Leopold himself faced a unique problem – and a rather ludicrous one. As the head of the senior Anhalt branch, he was not allowed to receive his kinsmen from Köthen and Bernburg because they were raised to a princely rank whilst he remained a Duke. Just like the Prince of Anhalt-Bernburg, Duke Leopold was therefore forced to pay a huge amount of money to the Emperor in 1806 to put this right. It cost him everything he had and was soon proven a poor investment when the Holy Roman Empire collapsed.
Leopold IV of Anhalt-Dessau (later Duke of Anhalt)
Anhalt-Dessau remained prosperous but unwilling to impose higher taxes on his people, Leopold III slowly saw his private fortune dwindle. When he died in 1817, his grandson Duke Leopold IV had to get his affairs in order and do the thing his grandfather would never consider – he cut public expenditure and raised taxes. He was deeply unpopular as a result and though just as liberal in outlook as his grandfather, he never quite attained the level of public affection Leopold III had enjoyed. That said, the public were extremely fond of the Duke’s wife, Princess Frederica, and his three surviving children. The eldest of these was the 19-year-old Princess Frederica Amalie Agnes, known as Princess Agnes to the public and as
Nessa within her family. Born in 1824, she had an unfortunate start in life as she was regarded by her parents as a replacement for her elder sister (Princess Frederica Amalie Auguste) who tragically died at the age of just 3. Two years later, Agnes was born and though she was doted on by the Duke and Duchess, she was always made aware that she had to live up to the expectations her parents had that she would prove herself a worthy successor to their lost child. Even so, Agnes’ mother could be cruel. She once told the young Princess “You are not beautiful Nessa, but you are charitable, so you are not entirely without value”.
The Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau was a dyed in the wool snob. She was particularly sensitive to her financial situation and never tired of reminding her husband, and her children, that she was the granddaughter of the King of Prussia and as such, was entitled to absolute deference and respect. The Duke suffered this, even when his wife openly stated she had married beneath her. But most pertinent to our story is the fact that the Duchess had a particular hatred of the English. Her mother, Frederica of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, had taken as her third husband the Duke of Cumberland – a figure well known to us – a man the Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau despised. She blamed Ernest Augustus for causing her mother such misery in her later years, living on a reduced income in a leased townhouse in Berlin and practically exiled from the United Kingdom. Frederica was fiercely loyal to her mother’s memory and she frequently spoke of the late Queen Charlotte as “that poisonous old woman” for Charlotte had never reconciled herself to Frederica as a bride for the Duke of Cumberland and was the first to ostracise her at court in England. The Duchess was therefore not entirely enthusiastic when she arrived at Burg Rheinstein from Schloss Sooneck to find King George V in attendance. Still, she was polite enough, providing a stiff curtsey and a half-smile before wandering away to hold court among her half-siblings.
That gala at Burg Rheinstein on the 11th of August 1843 has entered the history books because it was here that an incident took place which has been told and retold over the decades with varying degrees of accuracy. Indeed, even the most austere of historians have tended to rely on a fairy-tale account of events perhaps because the public still seem to want fairy-tale royalty even in this day and age. In later years, Princess Victoria (King George V's daughter) wrote a catty note to a friend after the story from Burg Rheinstein was printed in a woman’s journal; “It
may have happened that way”, she said imperiously, “And
I might be the Queen of Roumania” [sic]. But conversely, Frau Wiedl insisted until her dying day that the accounts of that evening were entirely accurate, that she had witnessed the proceedings herself, moreover, it had been she who played a very active part in the Cinderella story that unfolded. In this biography, I have decided to present the tale as it is told in the legend because I can find no account of it to suggest it did not happen that way and because it is now so ingrained in the public imagination that to omit it would seem churlish.
On the morning of the gala, the King went fishing with Prince Alexander and Prince Wilhelm. Whilst walking back to the castle, he slipped on a wet rock and twisted his ankle. He was reassured he had not broken anything and that a few days rest would ease the ache. So it was that by the time of the ball that evening, the King could not avail himself of the dancing and had to content himself by sitting on a settee in a corner watching everybody else enjoy themselves. As the couples whirled about the ballroom, the King’s gaze fell upon the 19-year-old Princess Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau dancing with Prince George of Prussia. Some accounts say it was a gavotte, others suggest it was a polka. The important thing is that no matter the dance, the outcome was the same. Prince George was a little too boisterous and as Princess Agnes turned, the heel on her shoe broke off and she tumbled to the floor. George, not being mature enough to behave as a gentlemen should, laughed. Agnes burst into tears and fled from the ballroom onto the terrace. The King saw this unfold and limped over to Prince George to admonish him for his bad manners.
Then, George followed Agnes onto the terrace to see if she was recovered. He found her sobbing and flushed with embarrassment.
Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau, painted in 1842.
“Are you hurt?”, he asked gently.
“Oh!”, Agnes exclaimed, quickly descending into a curtsey, “No Your Majesty. I am quite well only…it was the shock of the fall you see. And everybody saw…”
“You needn’t worry about that”, George smiled, “If it makes you feel any better, I tumbled myself earlier on. In the river. I was soaked to the skin”
Agnes giggled.
“Well that’s not very kind is it!”, George joked, “Here I am, come to comfort you for your unfortunate accident and you have no sympathy for mine at all!”
Agnes grinned. Then she looked apprehensive once more.
“What’s the matter?”, the King asked kindly.
“It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“Mama will be so upset with me for falling and for running out as I did. And now I cannot go back to the party because my shoe is broken. Look! And everybody will tease me and laugh at me. I wish I could just run away. Beastly shoes, beastly George, beastly ball!”
George suppressed a chuckle.
“I don’t care for dancing all that much”, he said with a sigh, “But I still like a jolly party. Shall we make this a jolly party?”
“Sir?”
Phipps was waiting just inside the doors that led onto the terrace.
“Fetch Rosa for me will you Phipps, there’s a good chap”
Within a few minutes, Frau Wiedl was on hand. The King whispered a few words in her ear and she disappeared back into the ballroom. Then, somewhat shiftily, she returned and handed the King a pink velvet bag. The King handed it to Princess Agnes.
“Here you are”, he said proudly, “Least said, soonest mended, what?”
Agnes looked into the bag. Inside were a pair of pretty ivory satin shoes. She eagerly slipped them on and beamed at the King.
“Oh look!”, she gasped excitedly, “And they’re so much prettier than my other ones. Aren’t they just darling? I don’t know how I should thank you”
“I do”, the King said with a warm smile, “You can partner me for this waltz”
And so, George V led the way back into the ballroom and danced his only dance that evening with Princess Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau.
It is a charming story and has all the elements required for a fairy-tale which is probably why it has become so popular in the retelling. Charlie Phipps later said there was some truth in it. Agnes did fall. Frau Wiedl did assist with a pair of shoes. And the King did dance with the Princess that night – his only dance. But regardless of the precise details of the event, that night would prove to be a very important one for George V. A very important night indeed.
Notes
[1] Leopold was Duke of Anhalt-Dessau at this time but later became Duke of a united Anhalt when he inherited the Duchies of Anhalt-Kothen and Anhalt-Bernburg.
And so here we have it...I can now officially confirm that we have met George's second wife. And that it won't be Dowager Duchess Hélène.
In my research, I could find no reason as to why Hélène would abandon her children in France - and there is no way that King Louis-Philippe would have allowed them to be raised in England. But as I mention here, Hélène really wasn't interested in taking a second husband. Her sole ambition in life once she was widowed was to see her son reign as King of the French - possibly to increase her own power and influence. Thus, Alexander is left disappointed, though George will remain a close friend. Apologies to those who were firmly in the Hélène camp!
And so we come to Agnes. Queen Louise fans...do not panic...he hasn't moved on
that quickly! The fact is, it would have been expected for the King to marry again if for no other reason than that his children needed a mother. That was very much the view then and people would have been more shocked if he remained alone for the rest of his life than marrying again. That said, we will not hear wedding bells any time soon. The narrative (and our discussions here) mean that it's obvious to us now that he will marry Agnes. But in the story itself, George hasn't given that the slightest thought. Agnes is a pretty girl he met at a party. His heart belongs to the memory of his dead wife. He has no immediate desire to court another woman, let alone marry her.
So this will be a slow burn and we'll have to wait a while to see the pair wed. But I didn't want to string out the "Who will it be?" for too long - so now we have a "When will it be?" instead. I hope people approve of my choice for George, I confess there were others in the running when I plotted this out before I began writing TTL but from the moment I knew I had to say goodbye to Louise, Agnes just seemed the best successor. Not that she will be a carbon copy - if I did that, we might as well have spared George V his sufferings! She'll bring a different energy when she finally arrives in England but as to when that will be and how that will happen? You'll have to wait and see.
As ever, many thanks for reading!
P.S - In the interest of tying up loose ends, in my switching of brides and grooms, this leaves Agnes' OTL husband Duke Ernst I of Saxe-Altenburg free to wed his cousin Marie who in the OTL married George V of Hanover (here the Earl of Armagh).