QUEEN MARY OF ENGLAND
The great European war affects profoundly all the women of each nation
involved. It affects doubly the royal women. The Queen of England, the
Czarina of Russia, the Queen of the Belgians, the Empress of Germany,
each carries in these momentous days a frightful burden. The young
Prince of Wales is at the front; the King of the Belgians has been
twice wounded; the Empress of Germany has her sons as well as her
husband in the field.
In addition to these cares these women of exalted rank have the
responsibility that comes always to the very great. To see a world
crisis approaching, to know every detail by which it has been
furthered or retarded, to realise at last its inevitability--to see,
in a word, every movement of the great drama and to be unable to check
its _dénouement_--that has been a part of their burden. And when the
_dénouement_ came, to sink their private anxieties in the public
welfare, to assume, not a double immunity but a double responsibility
to their people, has been the other part.
It has required heroism of a high order. It is, to a certain extent, a
new heroism, almost a demonstration of the new faith whose foundation
is responsibility--responsibility of a nation to its sons, of rulers
to their people, of a man to his neighbour.
It has been my privilege to meet and speak with two of these royal
women, with the Queen of England and with the Queen of the Belgians.
In each instance I carried away with me an ineradicable impression of
this quality--of a grave and wearing responsibility borne quietly and
simply, of a quiet courage that buries its own griefs and asks only to
help.
From the beginning of the war I had felt a keen interest in the Queen
of England. Here was a great queen who had chosen to be, first of all,
a wife and mother; a queen with courage and a conscience. And into her
reign had come the tragedy of a war that affected every nation of the
world, many of them directly, all of them indirectly. The war had come
unsought, unexpected, unprepared for. Peaceful England had become a
camp. The very palace in which the royal children were housed was open
to an attack from a brutal enemy, which added to the new warfare of
this century the ethics of barbarism.
What did she think of it all? What did she feel when that terrible
Roll of Honour came in, week by week, that Roll of Honour with its
photographs of splendid types of young manhood that no Anglo-Saxon can
look at without a clutch at his throat? What did she think when, one
by one, the friends of her girlhood put on the black of bereavement
and went uncomplainingly about the good works in which hers was the
guiding hand? What thoughts were hers during those anxious days before
the Prince of Wales went to the front, when, like any other mother,
she took every possible moment to be with him, walking about
arm-in-arm with her boy, talking of everything but the moment of
parting?
And when at last I was permitted to see the Queen of England, I
understood a part at least of what she was suffering. I had been to
the front. I had seen the English army in the field. I had been quite
close to the very trenches where the boyish Prince of Wales was facing
the enemies of his country and doing it with high courage. And I had
heard the rumble of the great German guns, as Queen Mary of England
must hear them in her sleep.
Even with no son in the field the Queen of England would be working
for the soldiers. It is a part of the tradition of her house. But a
good mother is a mother to all the world. When Queen Mary is
supervising the great work of the Needlework Guild one feels sure that
into each word of direction has gone a little additional tenderness,
because of this boy of hers at the front.
It is because of Her Majesty's interest in the material well-being of
the soldiers at the front, and because of her most genuine gratitude
for America's part in this well-being, that I took such pleasure in
meeting the Queen of England.
It was characteristic of Her Majesty that she put an American woman--a
very nervous American woman--at her ease at once, that she showed that
American woman the various departments of her Needlework Guild under
way, and that she conveyed, in every word she said, a deep feeling of
friendship for America and her assistance to Belgium in this crisis.
Although our ambassadors are still accredited to the Court of St.
James's, the old palace has ceased to be the royal residence. The King
still holds there his levees, to which only gentlemen are admitted.
But the formal Drawing Rooms are held at Buckingham Palace. To those
who have seen St. James's during a levee, or to those London tourists
who have watched the Scots Guards, or the Coldstream or the
Grenadiers, preceded by a splendid band, swinging into the old Friary
Court to perform the impressive ceremony of changing guard, the change
in these days of war is most amazing. Friary Court is guarded by
London policemen, and filled with great vans piled high with garments
and supplies for the front--that front where the Coldstream and the
Grenadiers and the others, shorn of their magnificence, are waiting
grimly in muddy trenches or leading charges to victory--or the Roll of
Honour. Under the winter sky of London the crenelated towers and brick
walls of the old palace give little indication of the former grandeur
of this most historic of England's palaces, built on the site of an
old leper hospital and still retaining the name of the saint to whom
that hospital was dedicated.
There had been a shower just before I arrived; and, although it was
February, there was already a hint of spring in the air. The sun came
out, drying the roads in the park close by, and shining brightly on
the lovely English grass, green even then with the green of June at
home. Riders, caught in the shower and standing by the sheltered sides
of trees for protection, took again to the bridle paths. The hollows
of Friary Court were pools where birds were splashing. As I got out of
my car a Boy Scout emerged from the palace and carried a large parcel
to a waiting van.
"Do you want the Q.M.N.G.?" said a tall policeman.
This, being interpreted, I was given to understand was Queen Mary's
Needlework Guild.
Later on, when I was taken to Buckingham Palace to write my name in
the Queen's book, which is etiquette after a presentation, there was
all the formality the visit to St. James's had lacked--the drive into
the inclosure, where the guard was changing, the stately footmen, the
great book with its pages containing the dignitaries and great people
of all the earth.
But the Boy Scout and the policeman had restored my failing courage
that day at St. James's Palace. Except for a tendency to breathe at
twice my normal rate as the Queen entered the room I felt almost calm.
As she advanced toward us, stopping to speak cordially to the various
ladies who are carrying on the work of the Guild for her, I had an
opportunity to see this royal woman who has suffered so grossly from
the camera.
It will be a surprise to many Americans to learn that the Queen of
England is very lovely to look at. So much emphasis has always been
placed on her virtues, and so little has been written of her charm,
that this tribute is only fair to Her Majesty. She is tall, perhaps
five feet eight inches, with deep-blue eyes and beautiful colouring.
She has a rather wide, humorous mouth. There is not a trace of
austerity in her face or in any single feature. The whole impression
was of sincerity and kindliness, with more than a trace of humour.
I could quite believe, after I saw Her Majesty, the delightful story
that I had heard from a member of her own circle, that now and then,
when during some court solemnity an absurdity occurred, it was
positively dangerous to catch the Queen's eye!
Queen Mary came up the long room. As she paused and held out her hand,
each lady took it and curtsied at the same time. The Queen talked,
smiling as she spoke. There was no formality. Near at hand the
lady-in-waiting who was in attendance stood, sometimes listening,
sometimes joining in the conversation. The talk was all of supplies,
for these days in England one thinks in terms of war. Certain things
had come in; other things had gone or were going. For the Queen of
England is to-day at the head of a great business, one that in a few
months has already collected and distributed over a million garments,
all new, all practical, all of excellent quality.
The Queen came toward me and paused. There was an agonised moment
while the lady-in-waiting presented me. Her Majesty held out her hand.
I took it and bowed. The next instant she was speaking.
She spoke at once of America, of what had already been done by
Americans for the Belgians both in England and in their desolated
country. And she hastened to add her gratitude for the support they
have given her Guild.
"The response has been more than generous," said Her Majesty. "We are
very grateful. We are glad to find that the sympathy of America is
with us,"
She expressed a desire also to have America know fully just what was
being done with the supplies that are being constantly sent over, both
from Canada and from the United States.
"Canada has been wonderful," she said. "They are doing everything."
The ready response of Canada to the demand for both troops and
supplies appeared to have touched Her Majesty. She spoke at length
about the troops, the distance they had come, the fine appearance the
men made, and their popularity with the crowds when they paraded on
the streets of London. I had already noticed this. A Canadian regiment
was sure to elicit cheers at any time, although London, generally
speaking, has ceased any but silent demonstration over the soldiers.
"Have you seen any of the English hospitals on the Continent?" the
Queen asked.
"I have seen a number, Your Majesty,"
"Do they seem well supplied?"
I replied that they appeared to be thoroughly equipped, but that the
amount of supplies required w&s terrifying and that at one time some
of the hospitals had experienced difficulty in securing what they
needed.
"One hospital in Calais," I said, "received twelve thousand pairs of
bed socks in one week last autumn, and could not get a bandage."
"Those things happened early in the war. We are doing much better now.
England had not expected war. We were totally unprepared."
And in the great analysis that is to come, that speech of the Queen of
England is the answer to many questions. England had not expected war.
Every roll of the drum as the men of the new army march along the
streets, every readjustment necessary to a peaceful people suddenly
thrust into war, every month added to the length of time it has taken
to put England in force into the field, shifts the responsibility to
where it belongs. Back of all fine questions of diplomatic negotiation
stands this one undeniable fact. To deny it is absurd; to accept it is
final.
"What is your impression of the French and Belgian hospitals?" Her
Majesty inquired.
I replied that none were so good as the English, that France had
always depended on her nuns in such emergencies, and, there being no
nuns in France now, her hospital situation was still not good.
"The priests of Belgium are doing wonderful work," I said. "They have
suffered terribly during the war."
"It is very terrible," said Her Majesty. "Both priests and nuns have
suffered, as England has reason to know."
The Queen spoke of the ladies connected with the Guild.
"They are really much overworked," she said. "They are giving all
their time day after day. They are splendid. And many of them, of
course, are in great anxiety."
Already, by her tact and her simplicity of manner, she had put me at
my ease. The greatest people, I have found, have this quality of
simplicity. When she spoke of the anxieties of her ladies, I wished
that I could have conveyed to her, from so many Americans, their
sympathy in her own anxieties, so keen at that time, so unselfishly
borne. But the lady-in-waiting was speaking:
"Please tell the Queen about your meeting with King Albert."
So I told about it. It had been unconventional, and the recital amused
Her Majesty. It was then that I realised how humorous her mouth was,
how very blue and alert her eyes. I told it all to her, the things
that insisted on slipping off my lap, and the King's picking them up;
the old envelope he gave me on which to make notes of the interview;
how I had asked him whether he would let me know when the interview
was over, or whether I ought to get up and go! And finally, when we
were standing talking before my departure, how I had suddenly
remembered that I was not to stand nearer to His Majesty than six
feet, and had hastily backed away and explained, to his great
amusement.
Queen Mary laughed. Then her face clouded.
"It is all so very tragic," she said. "Have you seen the Queen?"
I replied that the Queen of the Belgians had received me a few days
after my conversation with the King.
"She is very sad," said Her Majesty. "It is a terrible thing for her,
especially as she is a Bavarian by birth."
From that to the ever-imminent subject of the war itself was but a
step. An English officer had recently made a sensational escape from a
German prison camp, and having at last got back to England, had been
sent for by the King. With the strange inconsistencies that seem to
characterise the behaviour of the Germans, the man to whom he had
surrendered after a gallant defence had treated him rather well. But
from that time on his story was one of brutalities and starvation.
The officer in question had told me his story, and I ventured to refer
to it Her Majesty knew it quite well, and there was no mistaking the
grief in her Voice as she commented on it, especially on that part of
it which showed discrimination against the British prisoners. Major
V---- had especially emphasised the lack of food for the private
soldiers and the fearful trials of being taken back along the lines of
communication, some fifty-two men being locked in one of the small
Continental box cars which are built to carry only six horses. Many of
them were wounded. They were obliged to stand, the floor of the car
being inches deep with filth. For thirty hours they had no water and
no air, and for three days and three nights no food.
"I am to publish Major V----'s statement in America, Your Majesty," I
said.
"I think America should know it," said the Queen. "It is most unjust.
German prisoners in England are well cared for. They are well fed, and
games and other amusements are provided for them. They even play
football!"
I stepped back as Her Majesty prepared to continue her visit round the
long room. But she indicated that I was to accompany her. It was then
that one realised that the Queen of England is the intensely practical
daughter of a practical mother. Nothing that is done in this Guild,
the successor of a similar guild founded by the late Duchess of Teck,
Her Majesty's mother, escapes her notice. No detail is too small if it
makes for efficiency. She selected at random garments from the tables,
and examined them for warmth, for quality, for utility.
Generally she approved. Before a great heap of heavy socks she paused.
"The soldiers like the knitted ones, we are told," she said. "These
are not all knitted but they are very warm."
A baby sweater of a hideous yellow roused in her something like wrath.
"All that labour!" she said, "and such a colour for a little baby!"
And again, when she happened on a pair of felt slippers, quite the
largest slippers I have ever seen, she fell silent in sheer amazement.
They amused her even while they shocked her. And again, as she smiled,
I regretted that the photographs of the Queen of England may not show
her smiling.
A small canvas case, skilfully rolled and fastened, caught Her
Majesty's attention. She opened it herself and revealed with evident
pride its numerous contents. Many thousands of such cases had already
been sent to the army.
This one was a model of packing. It contained in its small compass an
extraordinary number of things--changes of under flannels, extra
socks, an abdominal belt, and, in an inclosure, towel, soap,
toothbrush, nailbrush and tooth powder. I am not certain, but I
believe there was also a pack of cards.
"I am afraid I should never be able to get it all back again!" said
Her Majesty. So one of the ladies took it in charge, and the Queen
went on.
My audience was over. As Her Majesty passed me she held out her hand.
I took it and curtsied.
"Were you not frightened the night you were in the Belgian trenches?"
she inquired.
"Not half so frightened as I was this afternoon, Your Majesty," I
replied.
She passed on, smiling.
* * * * *
And now, when enough time has elapsed to give perspective to my first
impression of Queen Mary of England, I find that it loses nothing by
this supreme test. I find that I remember her, not as a great Queen
but as a gracious and kindly woman, greatly beloved by those of her
immediate circle, totally without arrogance, and of a simplicity of
speech and manner that must put to shame at times those lesser lights
that group themselves about a throne.
I find another impression also--that the Queen of England is intensely
and alertly mental--alive to her finger tips, we should say in
America. She has always been active. Her days are crowded. A different
type of royal woman would be content to be the honoured head of the
Queen's Guild. But she is in close touch with it at all times. It is
she who dictates its policy, and so competently that the ladies who
are associated with the work that is being done speak of her with
admiration not unmixed with awe.
From a close and devoted friend of Queen Mary I obtained other
characteristics to add to my picture: That the Queen is acutely
sensitive to pain or distress in others--it hurts her; that she is
punctual--and this not because of any particular sense of time but
because she does not like to keep other people waiting. It is all a
part of an overwhelming sense of that responsibility to others that
has its origin in true kindliness.
The work of the Queen's Guild is surprising in its scope. In a way it
is a vast clearing house. Supplies come in from every part of the
world, from India, Ceylon, Java, Alaska, South America, from the most
remote places. I saw the record book. I saw that a woman from my home
city had sent cigarettes to the soldiers through the Guild, that
Africa had sent flannels! Coming from a land where the sending, as
regards Africa, is all the other way, I found this exciting. Indeed,
the whole record seems to show how very small the earth is, and how
the tragedy of a great war has overcome the barriers of distance and
time and language.
From this clearing house in England's historic old palace, built so
long ago by Bluff King Hal, these offerings of the world are sent
wherever there is need, to Servia, to Egypt, to South and East Africa,
to the Belgians. The work was instituted by the Queen the moment war
broke out, and three things are being very carefully insured: That a
real want exists, that the clothing reaches its proper destination,
and that there shall be no overlapping.
The result has been most gratifying to the Queen, but it was difficult
to get so huge a business--for, as I have already said, it is a
business now--under way at the beginning. Demand was insistent. There
was no time to organise a system in advance. It had to be worked out
in actual practice.
One of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting wrote in February, apropos of the
human element in the work:
"There was a great deal of human element in the start with its various
mistakes. The Queen wished, on the breaking out of war, to start the
Guild in such a way as to prevent the waste and overlapping which
occurred in the Boer War.... The fact that the ladies connected with
the work have toiled daily and unceasingly for seven months is the
most wonderful part of it all."
Before Christmas nine hundred and seventy thousand belts and socks
were collected and sent as a special gift to the soldiers at the
front, from the Queen and the women of the empire. That in itself is
an amazing record of efficiency.
It is rather comforting to know that there were mistakes in the
beginning. It is so human. It is comforting to think of this
exceedingly human Queen being a party to them, and being divided
between annoyance and mirth as they developed. It is very comforting
also to think that, in the end, they were rectified.
We had a similar situation during our Civil War. There were mistakes
then also, and they too were rectified. What the heroic women of the
North and South did during that great conflict the women of Great
Britain are doing to-day. They are showing the same high and
courageous spirit, the same subordination of their personal griefs to
the national cause, the same cheerful relinquishment of luxuries. It
is a United Britain that confronts the enemy in France. It is a united
womanhood, united in spirit, in labour, in faith and high moral
courage, that looks east across the Channel to that land beyond the
horizon, "somewhere in France," where the Empire is fighting for life.
A united womanhood, and at its head a steadfast and courageous Queen
and mother, Mary of England.