Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Виктория Холт

  Why not? I thought. He was so good. He should have been an architect; and it would give him and us all so much pleasure.

  The dear people of Scotland took us to their hearts as we did them to ours. I was already learning the names of the tenants. There was old Mrs. Grant who was so tidy and clean; and none of them was in the least overawed by royalty, the dear simple folk! There was one woman of ninety— Kitty Kear—who sat near her open door spinning; as we passed and talked to her, she did not even stop her work but remarked about Vicky, “Yon lassie has grown a wee bit since she were here last.” I learned about their families and characteristics; I dressed my children in kilts to show the people that we really felt ourselves to belong to their country.

  I knew that Balmoral was going to be our favorite haven to which we could escape when affairs in London became too trying. There we felt far away…in a different world. It was just what we needed.

  But alas, to my dismay and indignation, I was soon pregnant again.

  There was terrible news from Ireland, which was suffering acutely from the potato famine. People were dying in the thousands and being buried in communal graves. They had murdered some of the landlords. There was revolt there as in the European countries.

  I was deeply shocked when, as we were driving down Constitution Hill, a man came up close to the carriage and fired at me. I should have been killed if the gun had been loaded.

  He was an Irishman named William Hamilton who blamed me for the terrible state of affairs in his country.

  I was sorry for the man. I understood his anger. It must be terrible to see one's family and friends suffering from starvation when others have plenty. I would have pardoned him—after all, he had only given me a fright. But Lord John pointed out that that sort of thing could not be allowed to go on. It was a mistake to show mercy when it could be counted as weakness.

  William Hamilton was transported for seven years.

  That May my child was born. A boy this time—Arthur William Patrick Albert. There were seven of them now—all strong and healthy. Even the people were finding my fertility a little monotonous and there were unpleasant murmurings about the cost of the royal family to the taxpayer.

  I agreed with them that I had had enough. I was now thirty-one years old. Quite a mature age and a time when I thought I should have earned a respite from this onerous task. I had done my duty. Let it rest there.

  Albert was full of ideas for an exhibition he was planning. It was to show the industrial products of the world. Under his direction a Royal Commission was set up. He was working very hard on the project and he thought Hyde Park would be the very place where it should be set up. It was to be like a big glass palace.

  Of course he had to fight a great deal of opposition. There were those who could not agree to Hyde Park as the setting—when it was obviously the very best place. Albert was in despair.

  “They are against me,” he said. “They cannot forget that I am a German. I hear that on every side.”

  “Only from the stupid,” I said. “There are so many people who admire you and more and more are learning to do so.”

  I shall never forget that July day when the tragic news was brought to me.

  Sir Robert—whom I had begun by hating—was now a very dear friend and I could not believe this had happened to him. He was riding his horse up Constitution Hill when it became restive and threw him. He was carried to his home in Whitehall Gardens, and four days later he was dead.

  It was a great blow to the country. We had lost one of our finest statesmen.

  I was so distressed to think of poor Julia Peel. She had been such a good wife to him and they were such an exceptionally devoted couple that it had been a joy to see them together. She had made herself his companion and helpmeet throughout all his struggles and triumphs. They had five sons and two daughters—a devoted family, now plunged into mourning.

  First my dear Lord Melbourne and now Sir Robert Peel. Life was very sad.

  There had been so many deaths recently. Poor Aunt Sophia had gone. Aunt Gloucester was very feebleminded and behaved oddly. It could not be long before she joined her sister. Uncle Cambridge was ill. Of course they were all getting old. Even I was thirty-one.

  Then came terrible news from Uncle Leopold. Aunt Louise was very ill. The fate of her parents had upset her so much and she was so weakened that when illness came to her she was unable to fight it off. Uncle Leopold was very melancholy.

  I took some of the children to visit Uncle Cambridge. He liked to see them and they cheered him considerably. Vicky was not with us; she was, as so often, with her father. Bertie seemed much brighter without her; and Alfred and Alice, who were with us on this occasion, were his devoted slaves.

  We could not stay long at Kensington Palace because poor Uncle Cambridge was so very ill, and we were soon driving back to Buckingham Palace. The crowd pressed close to the carriage. The people were always interested to see the children. I had taught them to wave and Bertie did it with a special exuberance that always delighted the crowd.

  Suddenly a man ran up to the carriage and lifting his cane he brought it down on my head. I was just aware of the children's bewildered faces as I fainted.

  I was bruised and shaken and the doctors said that my bonnet had probably saved my life—or at least saved me from dreadful injuries.

  These attempts on my life were becoming common occurrences. I supposed it was something someone in my position should expect.

  The doctors said I must rest, but I was due to go to the opera that evening, and as I felt well enough, I said I would go in spite of my bruises.

  The reception I was given was tremendous. I think that incident did a great deal to bring out the loyalty of the people. It seemed incredible that a short time ago we were in fear of the Chartists who were planning to march on Buckingham Palace.

  It was wonderful to have them applauding me again.

  “Long live the Queen!” What glorious words! The incident was worthwhile to provoke such emotion. I must have looked grotesque. The skin round one eye was blue and yellow; but if my head was throbbing, I did not care. I just wanted to be there listening to their demonstrations of affection.

  I was less pleased to discover the identity of the man who had attacked me. He was Robert Pate, whose father had been High Sheriff of Cambridge, so he came of a good family. It seemed incomprehensible that he could have behaved so. He was not insane, but he was sentenced to seven years transportation.

  My bruises remained for several weeks and I felt very resentful that I should be exposed to insults and dangers of that kind, unable to go for a quiet drive without being in fear of my life.

  It seemed extremely brutal to me, for a man to strike any woman, and far worse than attempting to shoot; and the fact that there seemed no real motive for this man's crime worried me considerably, particularly as he was of a good family.

  There were two more deaths that year. Uncle Adolphus of Cambridge whom we had expected to die for he was very ill; but what was most tragic was that of Aunt Louise.

  Poor Uncle Leopold. My grief for him was great. I thought of how he had lost his dear Charlotte all those years ago and found happiness with Louise. She had suffered so much in her fears for her family which must surely have hastened her end.

  Oh, the wickedness of these violent people who seemed to find such pleasure in trying to wreck our lives.

  * * *

  IT SEEMED THAT there must always be someone in the government who gave us trouble; and it was usually a person in a high place. The thorn in our flesh at this time was Lord Palmerston. Albert disliked him intensely. He had a rather amusing nickname for him. When we were alone Albert always called him Pilgerstein, which came about by translating his name into German. Pilger palmer and stein stone.

  I suppose there could not have been two men less alike than Albert and Lord Palmerston and this was probably responsible for Albert's antipathy. What Palmerston thought of Albert I was not entirely sure. I
think he was one of those who regarded my husband as smug. He treated him with a modicum of respect but when we were together he would address himself to me as though to remind Albert that he was only the consort.

  There was nothing more liable to wound Albert, for he did work very hard and was cognizant of affairs—in fact more so than I was—and to be treated as though he were of no importance was very galling.

  Palmerston's reputation was shady. He was known as a libertine and as a bachelor had had countless mistresses until he finally settled down at the age of fifty-five with the dowager Lady Cowper who was three years younger than he was.

  Lady Cowper had been Emily Lamb, Lord Melbourne's sister, and she had married Earl Cowper when she was eighteen years old. She was a brilliant woman—as one would expect Lord Melbourne's sister to be—and the young and ambitious Palmerston was welcomed at the Cowpers' London residence as well as at Panshanger, their country seat. It was said that Emily and Palmerston had long been lovers and on the death of Earl Cowper they were married.

  The marriage had turned out to be a great success. They were devoted to each other and she did everything possible to further his career. She was already a celebrated hostess and being deeply involved in politics she acted as his private secretary and adviser.

  He was an individualist, determined to manage the Foreign Office as he thought best, going his own way and caring for no one. It was not surprising that he should incense us.

  Albert and I discussed him continually, trying to think of ways of driving him from the Foreign Office, which, as I said to Albert, was just about the most dangerous post he could hold.

  Albert thought he should be dismissed on moral grounds. There were all sorts of stories about him, one in which he had walked into a lady's bedchamber after the household had retired—in Windsor Castle of all places!—and attempted to make love to her. Sometimes I thought of what Lord Melbourne's comments would have been in these matters and I had to suppress a giggle, for they would certainly not have been Albert's.

  Palmerston seemed to enjoy working against royalty and it was almost as though he placed himself on the side of the rebels. This was most disloyal. Some time before he had been accused of supplying Sicilian rebels with arms from the Royal Ordnance because he thought their fight against the tyrannical King was just. This had resulted in an apology being asked for from us to the King.

  Lord John wanted to give Pam—as he was affectionately called by the people—an earldom and the Garter and send him to Ireland. I was against that. “It would seem like rewarding him,” I said. In the end Palmerston apologized to the King and the affair was hushed up.

  Lord John then asked me to receive him at Court, impressing on me that as he was my Foreign Minister, I could do nothing else; so Albert and I complied with icy politeness which only seemed to amuse Palmerston. He was incorrigible.

  When the Austrian General Haynau was visiting England, Palmerston made his sympathy with rebels plain. Haynau had suppressed the people's rising in Hungary with great cruelty. We did hear in the Press that he had publicly flogged women, and there were many stories of his savagery.

  When he was in London he visited a brewery where the draymen set upon him, handled him very roughly, and might even have killed him if the police had not arrived in time.

  General Haynau was furious at such treatment and demanded that the offenders be punished.

  Lord Palmerston refused to allow this.

  “General Haynau is regarded in this country as a criminal,” he said. “He was treated by the draymen as people would treat a callous murderer if they caught him.”

  Albert and I discussed the matter at great length.

  “He was a visitor to England,” Albert pointed out. “What was done was an insult to Austria, and an apology should be sent immediately.”

  I wrote to Lord Palmerston and told him that I wanted him to write an apology and bring it to me for my approval before it was submitted.

  When he arrived at the Palace I fancied there was a certain truculence about him, but there always was, as though he was reminding himself— and us—that the Foreign Office took orders from no one—not even the Queen.

  I said how much I regretted what had happened.

  “It is really a matter for rejoicing,” said Lord Palmerston blandly, “for the police arrived in time. Otherwise the General might not be here to complain of his treatment.”

  “Show me the apology,” I said.

  He bowed and handed it to me.

  It was cleverly worded and almost insolent, I thought. Palmerston had finished by saying that in view of the General's reputation, which had been freely commented upon here, it had been rather unwise of him to visit England.

  “You cannot say that,” I said.

  I held out the paper to Albert who read it and shook his head vigorously.

  “That must be removed,” I said.

  “It's too late, Ma'am,” said Palmerston with that impertinent grin of his. “The apology has already been sent.”

  “Then there must be another apology. We will say that this was a mistake. Please, Lord Palmerston, prepare a draft and I wish to see this one before it is sent.”

  “It would not be possible, Ma'am, for your Foreign Secretary to do this.”

  “But it is my wish. I shall insist.”

  “Then if Your Majesty insists, I shall no longer be your Foreign Secretary. Have I Your Majesty's leave to retire?”

  “Yes,” I said fiercely.

  When he had gone my temper got the better of me. “You must be calm,” said Albert. “The Prime Minister is the only one who can dismiss the Foreign Secretary.”

  “I shall insist that he dismisses Palmerston.”

  Albert shook his head. “Alas,” he repeated, “it is for the Prime Minister to decide.”

  “We must get rid of him.”

  “One of these days he will go too far,” said Albert.

  “I pray that day may be soon.”

  * * *

  I CAN ONLY say that Palmerston was a most flamboyant man. He was always at the center of some controversy. It was not long after the Haynau affair that he was involved in another crisis.

  He was, in a manner of speaking, a public hero. The people applauded his actions. “Good old Pam,” they said affectionately. If there was any trouble in any part of the world where he thought the prestige of Britain was threatened, he would send out gunboats to sail up and down the coast of the offending nation; and I have to say it usually had the desired effect. This show of strength was what people liked. Those who one day would be rioting would the next be waving flags and shouting “Rule Britannia.” Gunboat Pam was a hero to them.

  It was in the autumn when the Hungarian patriot, Kossuth, visited this country. I did wish these people would stay away. There was no reason why we should be involved in their quarrels.

  Kossuth had tried to free Hungary from the Austrian yoke, and when he had failed, thousands of people had fled from Hungary and Poland seeking refuge in Turkey. Austria, with her ally Russia, had demanded that they be sent back.

  Why Palmerston must involve us in the matter, I could not see—but Palmerston was a law unto himself. He advised the Sultan of Turkey to give the men refuge; and to show England's feelings in the matter, as was his practice, out came the gunboats to prowl through the Dardanelles. He was not threatening Russia, he explained, he was merely comforting the Turks. “It is like holding a bottle of salts to a lady who has been frightened,” he said. “I am the bottle holder.”

  He had wonderful gifts of oratory and when he explained his outrageous actions in Parliament, he always seemed to be able to carry his listeners along with him, so that however hostile they had been at the beginning, he managed to win them over in the end.

  As a result Kossuth visited England and the radicals gave him a tumultuous welcome.

  “This is dangerous,” said Albert. “No one disputes the fact that Kossuth is a brave man, but he was a rebel, and in
the state of the world at the present time, however brave, rebels should not be encouraged.”

  Palmerston then declared that not only would he receive Kossuth but he should be a guest in his house.

  This was too much. As a private person Palmerston might invite whomsoever he pleased, but not as the British Foreign Secretary.

  I sent for Lord John and told him that if Palmerston received Kossuth in his house I would personally dismiss him from Court. On this occasion Lord John agreed with me.

  I was delighted. Albert and I congratulated ourselves that we had at last got rid of our enemy.

  But not so. When confronted with the ultimatum, Palmerston smilingly agreed that he would not invite Kossuth to his house.

  “Opportunist!” I cried. “Where are his finer feelings?”

  One would have thought that would have been a lesson to him, but Palmerston was not the sort to learn lessons. He went his own way; he was bold and could do so without harming his career; and when he saw danger, he just turned about. An odious man!

  But this twisting and turning could not last.

  News came that Louis Napoleon, Napoleon Bonaparte's nephew, who was now President of the French Republic, was proclaimed Napoleon III of France.

  I was incensed. How dared these upstarts proclaim themselves royal!

  I thought of poor Uncle Leopold and how infuriated this would make him; and how sad too. He must be almost glad that dear Aunt Louise had not lived to see this.

  It was a dangerous precedent. Royalty all over Europe must tremble.

  Lord John came to see me. His anxiety reflected my own. “It is a very significant step,” he said; and I remembered what Lord Melbourne had said about governments making kings and queens—and realizing that they could as easily unmake them.

  “We shall remain aloof,” said Lord John. “We shall not question their right. It is not for us—a foreign power—to do so. But we can remain entirely passive…as though this has not happened.”

  I agreed that this was the only thing we could do.