Alix said that Albert could be added, of course.
‘A pity Bertie did not think of it,’ said the Queen severely. ‘Of course I should have preferred Albert to come first.’
‘His brother is Albert Victor,’ Alix reminded her.
‘Of course. Well, second perhaps. George Albert and the rest … if he must have George.’
‘Bertie says George is a King’s name and that there have been four of them recently in succession.’
‘But this little fellow won’t be King and as Eddy is called Eddy, he might have had Albert first.’
But she was not talking with her usual vehemence and Alix sensed this.
‘I do believe,’ Alix said afterwards to Bertie, ‘she talks of the Prince Consort out of habit now rather than sorrow.’
Which, said Bertie, was slightly more bearable.
* * *
In spite of the assiduous care of John Brown life was a little trying. There was constant anxiety about Bertie and the life he was leading; she had heard many stories of the scandals surrounding her uncles and their debts and the troubles they had got into with women; she greatly feared that Bertie was following in their footsteps. The people were displeased about her seclusion. There were pieces constantly appearing in the papers. Some of the ill-mannered politicians were not averse to standing up and pronouncing tirades against her. It was to say the least annoying.
Was it not enough that she worked hard for the good of the country? Had she not kept them out of war during that dreadful Schleswig-Holstein affair? If it had not been for her those two dreadful old men, Palmerston and Russell, might have dragged them in on the side of Denmark. It was true that she was very annoyed because Austria and Prussia between them had not given the Duchies to the Duke of Augustenburg which had been the object of the war, so everyone had been led to believe, but Prussia had annexed Schleswig and Austria Holstein, which was very wrong. All the same England would not have been justified in going to war.
It was all going to be very awkward because very soon she was going to Coburg to unveil a statue of Albert. All the family would be there and with this distressing conflict still in their minds, together with its disgraceful conclusion, it was going to be very awkward.
And now here was Punch with a most unkind cartoon. Oh, why did royalty have to suffer so much from these vulgar people? There she was, as they liked to portray her, most unflatteringly (not that she had ever been vain about her appearance) as the stone statue of Hermione. And Britannia (Paulina) standing before her with the words in a balloon coming from her mouth: ‘’Tis time; descend. Be stone no more.’
It was really too much to be borne. Not only must she work for their good in secret but she must appear at those worthless ceremonies, those tiresome, tiring public occasions.
Well, she was going to do no such thing; and they must be told so in such a way that there was no doubt about it.
* * *
Soon after the birth of little George, Alix and Bertie went to Denmark and stayed at Rumpenheim. How different it was from the old days. Everyone was talking about the war and of course most of the family had suffered very much through it. There was great bitterness and all the family feeling seemed to have disappeared.
Bertie was vehement in his condemnation of the Prussians and he hoped all those who had not stood by Denmark would realise how wrong they were now they saw how the Prussians and Austrians had seized the spoils.
There was speculation that there might well be trouble between those two, and Prussia would be at Austria’s throat before long; they could depend on that because Prussia would not be satisfied with Schleswig merely. Bismarck was stretching his greedy hands across Europe.
It was so different; one could not escape from the consequences of the war.
Dagmar’s fiancé, Nicholas the Czarevitch, had died of tuberculosis and she was very unhappy; but he had a brother Alexander and everyone was sure that Dagmar would have no difficulty in falling in love with him, so although she had lost her prospective bridegroom there was another waiting for her and his position was just as glittering as that of his brother. In fact it was exactly the same position.
It was all faintly depressing. Poor Dagmar felt that too.
And then they must go to Coburg where the Queen was unveiling the statue.
* * *
Victoria was in no mood to enjoy the occasion. She could never be in Coburg without thinking of dearest Albert and the happy holidays they had spent there. All her children were to be present because for any one of them to be absent would be an insult to dearest Papa. Albert’s brother Ernest would be there too. How strange that he who had led a somewhat wicked life should still be alive and Albert, who was younger, should have died! She remembered the occasion when she and Albert had witnessed the unveiling of a statue to Beethoven and how they had laughed because when it was unveiled it had its back to them. What good old days – how different from these sad and tragic times!
While in Germany they met Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, Sonderburg-Augustenburg, the younger brother of the man who had aspired to Schleswig-Holstein, and whose family had now been robbed of their estates by the Prussians and Austrians. He and Lenchen became very interested in each other and as Lenchen was the next daughter for whom she must find a husband, the Queen saw no reason for not agreeing to their betrothal. As far as her daughters were concerned she always remembered the sad case of her aunts who had never been allowed to marry. There had been scandals about some of them and some of them had been very bitter. But then of course poor old Grandpapa George III was always very odd.
Lenchen seemed very happy at the prospect of marriage and she could go home and think about it very carefully because the marriage could not take place for a while.
Vicky was of the opinion that it would be a good match. Vicky herself was in a very difficult position. Her husband was the Crown Prince of Prussia but Bismarck was not at all fond of her and she told the Queen that he had said she was pro-English.
‘What an unfeeling man,’ cried the Queen, ‘to imagine you could ever forget your native land!’
It had been a difficult life in Germany for poor Vicky in that dreadful haunted schloss with her mother-in-law who resented her, and that dreadful Bismarck who was really responsible for the terrible reputation Prussia was getting for being the menace of Europe. And besides that, of course, she was very worried about little Wilhelm with his poor sad arm and all the treatment they were trying to give him.
The Queen was glad when it was time to leave. She was very much looking forward to being at Balmoral. She smiled to think how pleased Brown would be.
* * *
Alix was very uneasy. How she hated being in Germany! To have been at Rumpenheim with her sad relations who had lost so much and then to be expected to be friendly with their enemies was unendurable. She was angry when a message arrived for her and Bertie to the effect that the Queen of Prussia would come to Coblenz to greet them as they passed through. It would be a brief meeting fortunately, said Bertie. For form’s sake really.
He was unprepared for Alix’s stony silence. He tried to change the subject but she burst out: ‘Do you think I am going to be polite to the Queen of Prussia when the King and Bismarck have done everything possible to ruin my father, my home and my family?’
‘I know it’s hard to meet them,’ soothed Bertie. ‘But it’s just to greet them and then pass on. They understand it’s a little awkward. That’s why it’s been arranged like this. It’ll be over in an hour.’
‘It will not,’ said Alix.
‘Oh yes, it will,’ murmured Bertie.
‘It will not be over in an hour,’ repeated Alix fiercely, ‘because it is never going to begin.’
Bertie stared at her.
‘My dear,’ he said, ‘do you realise that the Queen of Prussia is coming to Coblenz expressly to see us.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Alix, ‘and there is one thing you must understand, Bertie, I am n
ot going to see her.’
‘It would be an insult.’
‘My parents have been worse than insulted by Prussia.’
‘Alix, I know this, but we couldn’t possibly refuse to see them.’
‘I could,’ she said, ‘and I shall.’
Bertie was reminded of the time when she had had the flag hauled down from the mast. This was a new Alix. She had seemed so easy-going; she did not question him when he stayed out all night. He was aware that she knew of his friendships with other women and she accepted this as necessary to his extreme virility. Dear Alix, such a good wife, he had always thought. So pretty and so accommodating.
But this was different. He now recognised that determination, and knew that he could not ignore it.
He tried pleading with her. ‘What can we do? What excuse can I make?’
‘Excuses! Do we have to make excuses? These people have murdered Danes; they have stolen our territory. Do we have to make excuses because we don’t fall on their necks and kiss them?’
‘We have to remember that this is the Queen of Prussia.’
‘It is precisely because I remember that that I will not see her.’
‘Mama will be displeased.’
‘I am sorry, but if she is that must be so.’
‘Alix, consider …’
But her lips were tightly pressed together and there was a hard glitter in her eyes. She would not leave the train to meet the Queen of Prussia.
Bertie was in a dilemma. He must go alone, which he did.
The Princess of Wales, he explained, was indisposed. Perhaps she had taken the journey too soon after the birth of little George.
The Queen of Prussia coldly agreed that this might be so, but she knew of course that the Princess of Wales had insulted her; she had been fully informed of the incident of the flag.
The little Danish Princess gave herself airs which was extraordinary considering she had never been of great importance and but for the fact that the Prince of Wales had married her would have been even less so after the defeat of the Danes.
She would have to learn that she could not insult Prussia with impunity.
* * *
The Queen broke her journey on the way back at Ostend in order that she might see Uncle Leopold.
Poor Uncle Leopold, he was getting very old now. She remembered sadly how beautiful he had seemed when she was a child and she had called him her second father. There was still something very impressive about him. She could see the paint very clearly on his wrinkled cheeks. Poor dear man, striving to look well, and she remembered how when he had been young he had loved to talk of his ailments. He said his rheumatism was crippling him then; it wasn’t, of course, but it was just that he enjoyed imagining himself a martyr. She had heard him and old Baron Stockmar talking of their ailments with almost as much excitement as they did politics.
And now he was rather a sad sight, still in his built-up shoes to give him height and his wig which somehow called attention to his ageing face. But he was as warm and affectionate as ever.
She was still his dearest child and he still attempted to advise. Now he was lecturing her on her love of seclusion. ‘It is not wise, my dearest child. The people want to see you. We can’t afford to shut ourselves away. We have to think of the people all the time.’
‘It’s so tiresome that they should want to see me.’
‘Even more tiresome, my dear child, when they lose interest in us, or worse still turn against us. The Prince and Princess of Wales will take the popularity which should be yours.’
‘Bertie gives me great cause for alarm.’
‘He’s a very wild young man, I believe. He takes after my father-in-law, George IV.’
‘Yes, I fear so. That sort of thing is in the family … like getting fat. I’ve noticed Bertie is putting on weight.’
‘Too much rich food and wine, you should tell him.’
‘Bertie is becoming quite unmanageable.’
‘All the more reason why you should take your place in society.’
She listened patiently. Dear Uncle, he did like to manage everything. He had always been so. She remembered how she had remarked on this to Albert.
‘I remember,’ said Leopold, ‘when your Cousin Charlotte first became my wife …’
The Queen’s attention strayed. He was rambling on about how docile Charlotte had been, how she had looked up to him, how she had been a little jealous of him …
Victoria had heard it all before. Dear Uncle, he was getting so old.
She would be glad to be back in Balmoral.
* * *
Old Pam was beginning to feel his age. He was past eighty, but he was not going to give up. ‘If it wasn’t for the gout,’ he told his wife Emily, ‘I’d be as good as I was twenty years ago.’
But there was the gout and that spring he had had a particularly bad bout of it. He had gone down to Brocket Hall which Emily had inherited on the death of her brother, Lord Melbourne, and she had induced him to stay there for a bit. But as she said, it was hopeless trying to keep Pam quiet. The despatch boxes came down regularly and he was up half the night dealing with them, because he liked to ride in the day and he urged her to continue giving her parties in the evening. There were frequent dinner parties at Brocket Hall and he liked the guests not all to be old. A sprinkling of young and pretty women was always desirable and he continued to have an eye for them which Emily assured him she was aware of.
‘Oh, I’ve followed the path of virtue since I married you, Em,’ he told her. ‘I never sin outside my thoughts.’
She was afraid for him and wondered how he would feel if he was no longer able to continue in politics; he was afraid of what would happen to her if he were to die. Theirs was a devotion which was almost incongruous but it was steadfast as both knew.
With the coming of October he began to feel ill but he tried to hide it. He would have a day in bed and the next day he would be up and go out with Emily for a drive.
Lord Russell thought it wise to advise the Queen that he was anxious about the Prime Minister’s health.
* * *
What joy to be at Balmoral! Brown was in his element. This was the place. This was the life. The Queen was planning trips she would take with John Brown.
‘Aye,’ said Brown, ‘that’s a bit of a rough road, woman.’
‘Nonsense, Brown. We should be perfectly safe with you. We will go to Loch Oishne. It was always a favourite spot of the Prince Consort’s.’
Brown muttered that he was nae going to be responsible if she got it into her head to travel too far away and come back by night.
The Queen laughed. ‘Oh, you’ll look after us. You always do.’
She was so delighted to be back among the beloved hills. But there was this terrible news about Lord Palmerston. She did hope he was not going to be so ill that she would have to return to London. She would write to Lady Palmerston and send her sympathies. How difficult it must be to nurse a man like Lord Palmerston. She was sure he would never do what he was told.
In the meantime she would forget her Prime Minister and enjoy the simple life. What fun it was when Dr Macleod came in and told them about a most horrible murderer with whom he had talked when he visited the prison. Dr Pritchard had murdered his wife and mother-in-law and had been a dreadful character. It was really very distressing to realise that there were such terrible people in the world. But he of course was no longer in it, having been hanged by the neck last July.
Death, she thought. We all came to it. Dear Albert now lay in the mausoleum at Frogmore and how often during the months following his death had she longed to lie there beside him.
Now … She thrust aside the thought, because it was quite a long time since she had wished she were there with him. It was not that she was forgetting, she reminded herself. She was merely reconciled to living out the span allotted to her.
All the same it was very interesting to listen to Dr Macleod and the next day which was Sun
day they went to church where prayers were said for the recovery of Lord Palmerston.
* * *
Lord Palmerston lay in bed wondering whether he would reach his eighty-first birthday. He had breakfasted off mutton chops and port wine and told Emily that he felt better after such an excellent meal.
Emily came and sat by his bed but refused to allow him to get up. His protests were mild enough for he did not really feel well. But to cheer Emily when the doctor called he told him that he wanted to be up and about and couldn’t think why they were keeping him in bed. ‘You’ll die if you go out in this weather,’ warned the doctor.
‘Die!’ cried Palmerston with the accustomed wit. ‘My dear fellow, that’s the last thing I shall do.’
A few days later he was dead.
He was buried in Westminster Abbey and crowds witnessed the ceremony. They were silent crowds and the spirit of genuine mourning was evident. He had been the people’s darling with his amorous adventures in his youth which had earned him the name Cupid, becoming on his marriage to Emily the reformed rake, his wit, his unruffled good humour, his refusal to bow to royalty, his ability in foreign affairs – all this was remembered at the passing of good old Pam.
The Queen was saddened because she hated death.
‘But,’ she said, ‘I never really liked him.’
* * *
The Queen hated these ministerial crises and she was really very perturbed to contemplate that Lord Palmerston was no more. Although she had never liked him, she had to admit that she was feeling his loss deeply. He had been a strong man and that was what the country needed, particularly when it no longer had Albert to lead the way. He had been very courageous, anyone must admit that; and he had been calm; of course he had thought that he was infallible and he had been most disrespectful at times, but the country was going to miss him and apart from his vanity he was a great man. Moreover he had been the Prime Minister and there was nothing to do but summon Lord John Russell and ask him to step into Palmerston’s shoes.
The Widow of Windsor Page 17
