Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (67 page)

“Regard for my position! Do you think I ever forget?”

“I don't think so. But the people might. Bertie and Alexandra are constantly before the public in every imaginable way. The people must not forget that the Queen wears the crown.”

“I rode through the streets in my open carriage. You should have seen the people. I was greeted with far more enthusiasm than Bertie ever had.”

“I know it, and it bears out what I have said. You must try to emerge… gradually if you wish. But it is never wise to go against the wishes of the people.”

I looked at him fondly. Dear interfering Uncle Leopold; he was so pathetic with his built-up shoes to give him height, the color in his cheeks, faintly but appreciably artificial, and that wig of luxuriant curls, which was too young for his wrinkled face.

I kissed him tenderly.

I did not know then that would be the last time I was to see him.

T
HAT
O
CTOBER I
suffered a shock. Lord Palmerston died. I had never liked him and I had always had the impression that he was laughing at me.
Lord Melbourne had been a little like that, but he had smiled tenderly, whereas Lord Palmerston had been amused in a ridiculing sort of way.

By a strange coincidence Lord Palmerston died at Brocket Hall, the same house in which Lord Melbourne had died. Of course Palmerston had married Lord Melbourne's sister and the house became hers, so that was understandable—but I still thought it odd.

When people die one remembers the good things about them. There could not have been two men less alike than Albert and Lord Palmerston; and that speaks for itself. Palmerston had few of Albert's good qualities. He had been a rake and a dandy; but he had also been a good politician. Someone said of him that he had the great gift of judging the mood of the House and adjusting his utterances to it, which was one of the reasons why he had almost invariably carried opinion with him; he had been honest in politics and would not diverge from what he believed to be good for the country; he had the two most important assets for a politician: Courage and Confidence.

He was, therefore, a loss to the nation. I hated death; I hated a change of scene. Little things could change here and there almost unnoticed— and then suddenly the entire picture was different.

I thought of all the tussles we had had and I smiled at them now. He had been so outspoken and he had shown clearly that while he respected the crown, he saw those who wore it as frail human beings—which common sense told me was true. So when I heard of his death I was sad and I remembered not the irritation he had given me but his masterly conduct of the country in times of crisis.

We should miss Lord Palmerston.

It was only two months later when I was shattered by news of another death. This touched me more closely. It was hard to imagine a world that did not contain Uncle Leopold.

I had to shut myself away. I had to be alone to think back on all those happy times of my childhood. The visits to Claremont; the joy of seeing him. I remembered sitting on his knee and looking up into his beautiful face, for when he was young he was extremely handsome. I remembered how he had taught me to be good and prepare myself for a great destiny. It was he who had found Albert for me and brought us together.

He had been part of my life and now he was gone.

There had been little differences. After all I had my storms even with Albert. But how much he had meant to me when I was a child…and after.

He had expressed a wish to be buried at Windsor. I knew how close he felt to this country and that it had been his great ambition to rule it… with Charlotte; and although that had been denied him, his love for England had not changed.

I set about planning the ceremonial funeral that we would give him at Windsor; but when I was in the midst of my plans, I heard that the Belgian government refused to send his body to England. He was the King of the Belgians, they said; and therefore he must be buried in Belgium.

I was very angry.

“Was there nothing we could do?” I demanded.

Nothing, said Lord John. Leopold
had
been King of the Belgians, and they would have him interred in Belgium.

So Uncle Leopold did not come to England.

Lenchen and Louise tried to comfort me. Brown was scornful, implying that it was no matter over which to lose any sleep.

“He's gone and that's an end of it,” he said.

“It is because they are Catholics,” I explained. “I think that is the main objection.”

“Catholics are nasty beggars,” said John Brown.

“Oh Brown,” I said with a little laugh, “you are incorrigible.”

“I'm here to look after you, woman,” he said, “and blubbering over a grave is nae good for ye health.”

What a man! My spirits were lifted just to listen to his quaint way of expressing himself and his good, honest, frank way of doing it.

O
N THE DEATH
of Palmerston, I had called in Lord John, who had gone into the House of Lords as Earl Russell, and asked him to take Palmerston's place. My dear friend Lord Clarendon was given the post of Foreign Secretary, which Russell had hitherto held; and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, William Gladstone, became Leader of the House.

That year Alfred was coming of age and Lenchen's marriage was taking place. They would need grants and I was very eager that there should not be unpleasantness in Parliament about this.

Lord John urged me to come to London to open Parliament; and I felt that, in the circumstances, although it was five years since I had done so, I must give way on this occasion.

So I agreed to on condition that the ceremony should be performed without the usual fanfare of trumpets and gilded trappings, which normally
accompanied it. The state carriage was replaced by another of more modern style although it was drawn by eight cream-colored horses. And I did not wish to wear the robes of state, but had them laid on a chair beside me. I was dressed in black with the type of cap that is always associated with Mary Stuart; my garments being brightened by the Ribbon of the Garter.

The people greeted me with warmth and it was clear that they were pleased to see me. I acknowledged their greetings rather solemnly because I wanted them to realize that I was still in mourning.

I was glad when there was no haggling about the allowances, and rather surprised that not a voice was raised in opposition. Helena was granted a dowry of £30,000 and an annuity of £6,000; and Alfred was to have a yearly sum of £15,000, which would be raised to £25,000 on his marriage.

This was very gratifying.

Later I went to Aldershot to review the troops.

I was pleased to hear that Mary of Cambridge had become engaged to the Duke of Teck. This gave me gratification because Mary was no longer young and she was too large to be really attractive. Moreover the Duke of Teck was connected with the Saxe-Coburg family, so I heartily approved of the match.

I attended Mary's wedding at Kew, dressed in deepest black in case anyone should think I had forgotten Albert; and a month later my dear Lenchen was married at Windsor

I
WAS VERY
alarmed by the conflict growing between Prussia and Austria. Having taken Schleswig-Holstein, they were now quarreling over the spoils. I understood what they wanted. It was the unification of German States, and the question was who should be at the head of them. Bismarck was determined that it should be Prussia, and he had not talked of Blood and Iron for nothing.

The struggle cut through the family. The Crown Prince naturally stood with Prussia, but Alice's Louis and my poor blind Cousin George of Hanover were for Austria. The idea of having two sons-in-law fighting against each other was abhorrent to me.

I knew that Albert would have wanted to see Prussia dominant; but the situation had changed since Albert's death, and I wondered what his feelings would be now. His hope had been that Vicky would one day be
Queen of Prussia, and if Prussia succeeded it would mean that Vicky and Fritz would be two of the most powerful sovereigns in Europe. But what of Alice and Louis? What of poor blind George?

I begged Lord Russell to do everything possible to prevent war. I offered to act as mediator between the two states. Bismarck was almost contemptuous in his refusal. What an odious man! It was an unhappy day when he rose to power.

Not only was there all this trouble abroad, but domestic difficulties arose. Lord Russell told me that he thought the government might be defeated over the Bill they had recently introduced. I knew that we needed this matter of the extended franchise settled, and that it had been going on for a long time.

Lord Russell said, “Your Majesty's government thinks you should remain at Windsor instead of going to Balmoral this spring, for if a ministerial crisis arose, you should be on the spot.”

I refused, and really I believed I was far more worried about what was happening on the Continent than at home.

The Reform Bill was in committee when the storm broke and war between Prussia and Austria broke out. Almost immediately Lord Russell sent his resignation to Balmoral.

I was very annoyed. I wrote to him that in the present state of Europe, I thought it was apathetic of the government to abandon their posts in consequence of a defeat on detail in a matter which demanded concessions on both sides. I asked him to reconsider their decision.

Lord Russell was adamant. I retorted that his withdrawal was betrayal; and I stayed on at Balmoral.

Lord Derby then accepted office and Benjamin Disraeli was the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House. But it was the war in Europe that gave me sleepless nights. I wrote to Alice telling her to send her children to me because I had a terrible feeling that HesseDarmstadt was not going to stand out against the Prussians. I sent linen for the wounded. It was a dreadful feeling to be supporting Fritz's enemies, but his enemies were my beloved daughter and her husband. Strife in the family is like Civil War—the most heartrending conflict of them all.

The Prussians overran Hanover, depriving poor George of his throne. He took refuge in Paris with his family. At least his life was saved.

Then … the war was over. In seven weeks. Prussia was victorious.
Bismarck was getting his wish. Prussia's grasp of the Imperial Crown of Germany was in sight.

And the price: Hanover, part of the British Crown, was ours no longer. The First George had brought it to us, and I should have been its Queen but for the Salic Law. Now that had passed out of our hands. Poor Louis had lost much of his territory and was greatly reduced in power— as were the smaller German States.

They would soon all be under one rule—that of the all-powerful Prussia. It had been a time of distress and I was glad to stay in Balmoral to discuss an account of Albert's early life, which was to be published. I was helping to compile this with my secretary, General Grey; and although I wept bitterly over the letters—of which it mainly consisted—I could absorb myself completely and it was almost like having Albert with me.

When the book appeared it was a great success; and I decided that there should be a biography of Albert and for this I called in Sir Theodore Martin; and he set to work.

I was so engrossed in the work and the company of these men who seemed to have a special understanding of Albert that I decided to publish some writings of my own. I had always kept an account of day-to-day happenings and I went through some of them. It was amazing how those words brought back memories of the bygone days, so that I felt I was living them again.

Early in the following year my
Leaves from a Journal of Our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861
appeared. It was a great success. Of course it was very simply written and from the heart, and I think people began to realize then my devotion to Albert, and to understand why I felt the need to shut myself away and mourn.

I was getting to know Benjamin Disraeli, and I found him a very interesting man. Albert had not liked him very much. He was sure he dyed his hair. Perhaps he did but he was certainly most gracious in his manners, and what a respect he had for Albert! This made me warm to him and I found that I could talk to him easily. He was extremely clever; he was an author of some note and because I myself liked to write that was an added interest we had in each other.

He gave me a copy of his novel
Sybil
and I was very touched to see that it was dedicated to The Perfect Wife.

I said, “You had the perfect wife, Mr. Disraeli. I had the perfect husband.”

He looked at me with great emotion and replied, “It is the greatest good fortune, Ma'am, to find the perfect partner; and those to whom this falls are indeed to be envied.”

I could talk about Albert to him; he responded glowingly. He had always had the greatest respect for Albert, he told me. He had always seen him as the great statesman.

When
Leaves from a Journal
was published he came to congratulate me. “I know how we authors feel when we see our work in print,” he said.

I laughed and replied that I was not an author in the sense that he was, but he thrust that aside and said that
Leaves
would live as long as literature lasted.

“I shall never forget the dedication: ‘To the dear memory of him who made the life of the writer bright and happy, these simple records are gratefully inscribed.' ”

“You remember it perfectly, Mr. Disraeli.”

“Ma'am, such words are not easily forgotten.”

I felt my spirits lifted; and my thoughts went back to those days when Lord Melbourne had made me so happy.

I believed I was going to find great comfort in Mr. Disraeli.

I
T WAS HARDLY
to be expected that the people would allow me to rest in peace. It was difficult for them to understand how helpful John Brown was to me with his blunt manners and wonderful fidelity. They must besmirch everything that was good. I would never forget what they had said of Albert; now they turned their attention to John Brown, and it was their aim to hurt me through that excellent creature.