The Widow of Windsor (7 page)

The children were chattering about the trees. They were bigger than last year, there were more candles and hadn’t the big tree looked wonderful? Little Thyra speculated on what the odd-shaped parcel in blue paper contained and wondered whether it was for her.

Louise and Christian exchanged glances. They were very happy with their little family. Christian hoped that they could go on enjoying these simple pleasures for a long time to come; Louise, more ambitious, was a little sad thinking that soon the children would be grown up and it would be necessary for them to marry and go away, for what could there be for any of them in Denmark – except Fredy, of course, who would follow his father to the throne.

After the meal it was present-giving time – the highlight of Christmas when the family assembled round the big tree and there were squeals of delight as paper crunched and gifts emerged and arms were flung round necks and the giver assured that it was just what the receiver had always wanted.

And when the excitement had died down they clustered round the grand piano and Louise played Christmas carols and hymns and they all sang together; then the older children took it in turns to play and Alix and Dagmar performed a duet which their parents loudly applauded.

Alix sat by her father afterwards who said very gently that he wanted to speak to her seriously.

‘You know, my dear, you are a good child but you have one distressing fault. You are constantly unpunctual.’

‘Yes, Papa, I’m
so
sorry.’

‘But, my darling child, it is no use being sorry only – although sorry you should be. You must try to rectify the fault.’

‘I do, Papa.’

A look of affectionate exasperation crossed Prince Christian’s face.

‘But, Alix, if you really tried how could you fail to succeed? It is so easy. You have to be at a certain spot at a certain time. What but your own carelessness can prevent you?’

‘It’s true, I know, Papa. But somehow I don’t
think
until I hear the gong and then I am in a fluster.’

‘But, my child, you must think. You must remember what time the gong goes – it is always precisely on the minute so you know it’s coming. You must be ready before it strikes and then … there you are at your place like the rest of us.’

‘But, Papa, is it so important?’

‘My dear child, it is of the utmost importance. It is something you will have to remember when you are older, for to keep people waiting is most impolite, giving the impression as it does of being in no haste to see them since you cannot make the effort to be there on time.’

‘Oh, Papa, I will try … I really will.’

He nodded. ‘I hope you were never late when you were in England.’

‘Well, not often … and it didn’t seem to be so important there.’

‘Of course it is important everywhere. Always remember that. And you saw the Queen. How fortunate you were … more fortunate than your brothers and sisters.’

‘Oh yes, it was a great adventure.’

‘Tell me now, what was the nicest thing about it all?’

She did not hesitate. ‘Coming home to you and Mama and the children and the Yellow Palace, and Bernstorff and Rumpenheim in the summer.’

Prince Christian smiled tenderly. ‘So it has not made you despise your home? I’m glad of that. What did you think of the Queen of England?’

‘Oh …’ Alix considered. ‘She is a little lady. You are rather surprised because you would imagine she should be big. She is kind and said she was glad to see me. She was a bit frightening, though – as though she wanted to be nice but was too important really.’

Prince Christian was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘Shall I tell you a secret, Alix?’

‘Oh, Papa, yes.’

‘I might have married the Queen of England.’

‘Really, Papa. But what of Mama? You are married to her.’

‘This was before. A lot of letters passed between our governments and she married Prince Albert and I married your mama.’

Alix was struck by this awesome statement.

‘But if you had married the Queen she would have been our mama.’

‘The thought seems to disturb you. Don’t let it. It can’t happen now, you know. Besides, everything would have been different then.’

‘I might have been Alice or Lenchen.’

‘Oh, things don’t work out that way. Still, I think what happened was really for the best for us all, don’t you?’

Alix looked at the denuded Christmas tree, at Mama with Dagmar at the piano and Thyra standing by watching; and the boys with their heads together examining each other’s presents.

‘Oh yes, Papa,’ she said fervently. ‘It happened the best way.’

They had come back from Rumpenheim to Bernstorff. It had been a wonderful summer, with river trips and picnics and conversation. Cousin Mary had been there and she told Alix what a good impression she had made in England. The royal children had all enjoyed meeting her and the Queen had said she seemed a very pleasant little girl.

Cousin Mary said that one day Alix would have to marry and leave home. Had she ever thought of that?

Alix looked so alarmed that Mary did not pursue the subject and Alix quickly forgot it; it had to come, she knew, but it was years away, much too far to be worried about now especially at Rumpenheim when they were going for a trip to Frankfurt and to play Lotto that evening.

Mary did say, though, that she thought Alix ought to work harder with her English. Her German was good, her French was passable, but her English was not so good.

‘To begin with,’ said her cousin, ‘we will speak to each other this holiday in English.’

It was a great help, and she was sad as always to say goodbye to her dear cousin.

But it was pleasant to be back in Bernstorff which was almost like being at Rumpenheim, better, though, because it was so much nearer Copenhagen.

King Frederick called on them and they had the pea-soup and bacon that he always insisted on. He ate large quantities of it and drank lots of Danish beer. The girls had put on their best dresses for the occasion – to be changed for plainer ones as soon as the visitors had left. The Countess Danner who – unfortunately – accompanied him had an appetite almost as large as his, but she was not nearly as friendly.

After the meal the King put on a Turkish fez hat and brought out a huge pipe and then he started to drink
Akvavit
while Louise watched his glass speculatively so that Alix knew she was wondering how much more he was going to drink and whether they would have enough to satisfy him and how they were going to afford to replenish their stocks in anticipation of his next visit.

Uncle Frederick liked to talk about the Schleswig-Holstein war which he had successfully waged and he would call the children round him and while he puffed at his great pipe and sipped his
Akvavit
he would talk of the war and how he had led his men into fantastic adventures.

The more
Akvavit
he drank the more fantastic would the adventures become. The Countess would yawn, drink her brandy, calculate the value of the furnishings of Bernstorff and clearly be waiting for the time when Uncle Frederick would be ready to depart.

The boys would laugh at these strange adventures, but they had been warned not to show that they did not believe them; Uncle Frederick was the King of Denmark and as such must be respected.

Alix was fond of him because in spite of all the wild stories – which were untruths – he was kind and wanted to see them all enjoying themselves. He loved to hear them laugh and of course they owed a great deal to him.

He was always particularly interested in Fredy who would one day be King of Denmark too. Oh, Fredy, Alix thought, don’t get fat and wear a fez and tell outrageous stories which no one believes, and marry a woman like Countess Danner whatever you do. As if he would! Fredy was going to be tall and blond like the rest of the family. He would not be a bit like King Frederick.

And soon they would be back in the Yellow Palace and life would go on in this pleasant happy fashion.

Oh, how glad I am that Papa did
not
marry the Queen of England, she thought.

One day Prince Christian summoned the children together and told them that he had invited a very special guest.

Alix at first wondered if it could be the Queen of England of whom she had thought a great deal since her father had told her he might have married her. But it was not the Queen but a man.

‘He’s a story-teller,’ said their father, ‘and you have read and loved some of his stories, I know. His name is Hans Christian Andersen.’

The children chattered together. ‘There was the ugly duckling who turned into a swan and the little mermaid. Yes, they did know his stories. Was he coming to tell them stories?’

‘He is coming because we are going to honour him. He is a Dane and people all over the world read his stories. We should be proud of such men. You must not forget that one day I shall be King and Fredy here will follow me. It is necessary to encourage people like Hans Christian Andersen and if we invite him here other people will ask him to their houses and it is a way of saying that we appreciate our men of genius.’

The children were overawed and rather silent when the writer was introduced to them, but not for long, because he was quiet and unassuming – and perhaps a little overawed to be in the presence of the future King and his family. But he was soon put at ease by the simplicity of life in the Yellow Palace. There was something childlike about him which made for immediate understanding between himself and the children; and they were happiest when alone with him.

He became a frequent visitor to the Yellow Palace and he would sit in the schoolroom or out of doors if the weather was good and tell them about the days when he was the son of a poor shoemaker. When he wrote a new story he would bring it along to read to the children and they would sit in a circle round him listening entranced.

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Alix to Dagmar, ‘that children all over the world are going to have these stories told to them.’

Dagmar agreed that it was; and when Hans brought his stories in volume form to show them and inscribed a copy especially for them they were very excited.

Christian and Louise looked on benignly at the friendship which had grown between their children and the story writer.

So the days passed – days made enthralling by the storytelling of Hans, and amusing by the same occupation of King Frederick. And how different were those two story-tellers. The Little Mermaid had nothing in common with Uncle Frederick’s wild, military and equally fictitious adventures. Oddly enough, pointed out Alix, while Hans told his stories about people who only lived in his imagination you believed in them, but when Uncle Frederick told stories about himself you did not believe them for one instant.

Such happy days they were. Going for walks along the promenade – the Lange Linie – watching the ships coming in to Copenhagen from all over the world, studying the fashions in the shops, coming home and copying them with just that difference which made them one’s very own; all the excitement of choosing material for a new dress and patterns and accessories, being very cautious that one kept within one’s allowance, taking care of the new dress, changing into something simpler when one came in. Countess Danner didn’t have half as much fun with her elaborate clothes, Alix pointed out to her sisters. And no wonder because they were sometimes very ugly – and it was gratifying that their cheap ones could look so much more elegant. Christmases, birthdays to look forward to and with two boys and three girls there was always some celebration about to burst upon them. There were gymnasium lessons with Papa, music and languages with Mama; other more mundane subjects with governesses.

The summers at Rumpenheim with the cousins and aunts were becoming more and more interesting as they grew older. There were little dances for the family and the few friends from the neighbourhood who were invited; there were river picnics and trips to Frankfurt, and of course, animated and interesting conversation.

Then Bernstorff – that beautiful castle – which it was thrilling to approach along the avenue of trees; it was a little like Rumpenheim but more comfortable in a way because it was the family home – and it had the advantage of being only ten miles from Copenhagen so one was not really cut off from that beloved city. At Bernstorff there was more of a holiday atmosphere than at the Yellow Palace, though Prince Christian insisted that they all rose very early in the morning – the best time of the day, he was fond of saying. They had coffee and rolls and then were out in the nearby woods walking, riding or playing with the dogs, of which there were many. Their father would come out of the palace when it was time for
déjeuner
and give a piercing whistle and when they heard it they must all leave what they were doing and run into the castle. His only real displeasure was if they were late. Then lessons would begin and after that perhaps a ride.