Henry and Mary Ponsonby: Life at the Court of Queen Victoria (review)

Henry Ponsonby (1825-95) was the oldest son of a military general who died when he was eleven. He was a model son, deferential to authority yet popular with his peers at Sandhurst. After a spell as an aide-de-camp in Ireland, the Crimea, and Canada, Ponsonby became an equerry in Queen Victoria's court. From 1870 until his death he served as the Queen's private secretary. As William M. Kuhn astutely notes, the position originated "not in the sovereign's readiness for business, but in the sovereign's incapacity for business" (140). Ponsonby served during the years when Victoria's extended mourning was used as an excuse to neglect much official business. The position demanded the utmost tact; Ponsonby's responsibilities ranged from acting as the Queen's go-between with prime ministers to delivering reprimands to her adult children. He always traveled with the royal retinue and could rarely command his own time. Yet he seems to have enjoyed the post. Kuhn makes us appreciate, even like, this talented man who subsumed his personality and ambition to an increasingly difficult queen, whilst always remaining slightly apart, humorously mocking the codes of behavior he did so much to uphold.

But Kuhn rarely questions whether Ponsonby might have been too diplomatic, too willing to bend to the irascible demands of the Queen. Kuhn, along with Ponsonby himself, clearly disapproves of her infatuation with Benjamin Disraeli, but he does not explore how Ponsonby might have educated his superior. During the Conservative government of 1874 to 1880 Ponsonby found himself ignored on key issues. Kuhn argues that Ponsonby steadfastly promoted royal neutrality, but the Queen saw him as too loyal to the Liberals and William Gladstone, whom she detested. How did Ponsonby lose credibility so precipitously? And why did he not resign when faced with repeated humiliations at Disraeli's hands? Kuhn wants us to admire Ponsonby's ability to balance respect for and ridicule of royalty, but most readers will wonder at the waste of his talent.

In truth, Henry's wife was more interesting than he. Mary Bulteel (1832-1916) met Henry at court when he was serving as an equerry and she as a maid of honor. As a young woman she had considered joining a High Church sisterhood; she always retained a strong interest in religious and ethical questions. She was friends with many of the leading intellectuals of the day, including George Eliot, to whom she had turned during a crisis of faith. She was an early supporter of women's higher education, canvassing aristocratic friends for donations to Girton College. Mary enjoyed flirting with radicalism, and fully supported her youngest son when he turned to pacifism and socialism. She kept well apart from court affairs, which was probably a relief to the anti-intellectual Queen. It clearly suited Mary that Henry was at Balmoral, or the Isle of Wight, or abroad for several months of the year. Perhaps his mild jokes about protocol wore thin in comparison with the strenuous discussions she had about God, women's education, and trade unionism with her numerous women friends.

Witty, sharp-tongued, and yet still serious, Mary was very appealing to both women and men. She had refused to marry the glamorous Tory, William Harcourt, on the grounds of religious incompatibility. As a young widower in the 1860s, Harcourt renewed their acquaintance. In her diary, Mary questioned her motivations in permitting him to call on her: "I, left alone often for weeks and weeks, had many opportunities of seeing him, was it an arduous process of fighting with scruples and casuistries and debates which made me put a stop to these pleasant (and harmless) hours of companionship?" (qtd. 132). Harcourt was not the only man sent away, beckoned back, and sent away again. Henry's numerous letters to Mary attest...