“This is almost like an act of war,” I cried.
“Necessary, Ma'am,” said Palmerston. “And in the name of the government I must ask Your Majesty not to show preference for the Prussians.”
I stared at him in dismay. How dared he tell me what I must or must not do—that gouty old man and Lord John with him! They should have retired long ago. They were two dreadful old men. And here they were, reproaching me, telling me what I ought to think, what I ought to do for the sake of the country!
“The Prince Consort was of the opinion that we should keep out of war unless it was of the absolute necessity to make it. He would never have agreed to make war on the Germans.”
“The Prince was a German, Your Majesty,” replied Palmerston. “He was naturally devoted to his own country. But we, Ma'am, are English… and equally devoted to ours.”
The insolence! None but Palmerston would dare!
“War never did anyone any good.”
“It seems to be doing something for the Prussians. They will have Schleswig-Holstein—and Denmark, too, if they are allowed to. We cannot stop their taking the Duchies, Ma'am, and there are some who say they have a claim to them; but they must not be allowed to walk into Denmark.”
I was glad when they left. I had really felt very angry. But I had impressed on them that if they decided to declare war I should dissolve Parliament.
Palmerston did not want to go to war. He was wise enough to know the folly of that. But his sympathies were with Denmark.
“We want more than sympathy,” said Alexandra pathetically.
But we were not in a position to give more. Palmerston would send the fleet to the Baltic, much as he had sent out his gunboats, and that would prevent Prussia's invasion of Denmark, for no country would seek confrontation with the British fleet. Palmerston had hoped Napoleon would intervene. After all, geographically he was nearer to the area than we were. If Napoleon had gone in to help Denmark, we might have done so. I was glad he did not, for that would have meant our fighting against Vicky and Fritz.
What a dreadful state of affairs!
The matter was settled by April. The war was over. Prussia had taken Schleswig-Holstein. Alexandra was very unhappy and Bertie was sympathetic to her. Vicky and Fritz were triumphant; and once again I had to admit that Palmerston's methods had kept us out of war in spite of the exhortations of my family on all sides and the thoughtless urgings of the Press and people.
True, all along I had asked myself: What would Albert have done? But I had acted without his advice. I felt a certain gratification; and it was possible that my grief had lifted a little.
* * *
THERE WERE CONTINUAL complaints about my seclusion. I could not bear to be in London. In the winter I was at Osborne and in summer in Scotland. Palmerston was constantly telling me of the people's discontent, and what great good luck it was that the Prince of Wales was so socially inclined.
I said I thought the Prince led rather a rackety life at which the Prime Minister smiled as though it was a very laudable thing to do.
He came down to Osborne with a piece of paper on one occasion. This, he said, had been attached to the gates of Buckingham Palace and he thought he ought to show it to me.
He smirked as he handed it to me.
“These Premises to be let or sold in consequence of the late Occupants declining business.”
“What impertinence!” I said.
“It shows what the people are thinking, Ma'am. We should always be grateful when they let us know what is in their minds.”
“Don't they understand?”
“Oh yes, Ma'am. They understand Your Majesty needs a period of mourning. What they are hinting is that it is of rather long duration. It is not wise for sovereigns to hide too long from the public. However, as I have said, we are fortunate in the Prince of Wales who is doing Your Majesty such a service.”
I could imagine them—Bertie and Alexandra—riding through the streets and all the gossip about Bertie's flamboyant life, which seemed to please the people. It was ironic when one thought how suspicious they had been of Albert who had done so much good for them with so little appreciation. But Bertie with his card parties and his fast friends…oh, he was a hero! And there was Alexandra, now sad and claiming their sympathy because we had failed to come to her family's aid and had allowed the Prussians—always hated—to take Schleswig-Holstein.
Uncle Leopold wrote. He seemed to know everything that was going on, and he had heard of the popularity of the Prince and Princess of Wales.
“It would seem that you have abdicated and handed over the crown to Bertie.”
That disturbed me. What would Albert have said? He had always believed that Bertie would be incapable of ruling unless he changed considerably. And had Bertie changed? He was still as unlike Albert as he had ever been, and he had more opportunity now of showing that dissimilarity. No. The last thing Albert would have wished was for Bertie to take my place.
I went to London. I rode through the streets in an open carriage. The people turned out in their multitudes to see the sad bereaved Queen who could not forget her husband.
The cheers were deafening.
Palmerston was delighted. “Your subjects have had the chance to show their love and loyalty, Ma'am,” he said.
I was gratified. They had reminded me that I was the Queen. No one—not even Bertie and Alexandra—had had a welcome like that.
“Your Majesty must give your subjects further opportunities of expressing their love for you,” went on Palmerston.
Must I? Nobody said must to the Queen. I had no intention of coming out of my seclusion.
* * *
WHILE I WAS at Osborne, Dr. Jenner said I was not taking enough exercise. I told him that I had no heart for such things. Everywhere I went I was reminded of the Prince Consort. Of course, I was reminded of him in the house as well—but I just had no inclination to walk or ride.
Then one day Dr. Jenner came to me and told me he had taken a step of which he hoped I would approve. He had consulted with the Princess Alice who had begged him to go ahead as she thought it an excellent idea; he had also consulted Sir Charles Phipps.
I wondered what he was talking about. Sir Charles Phipps was the Keeper of the Privy Purse. It was all rather mysterious and he was so long in coming to the point.
“Your Majesty may not be pleased. If so, that can easily be rectified.”
“Do please tell me what this is all about.”
“We have taken the liberty of bringing one of your Scottish servants to Osborne, Ma'am. He looked after you so well in Scotland and Your Majesty was always so pleased with his service. We thought it could be to Your Majesty's benefit.”
“One of my servants from Scotland!”
“John Brown, Your Majesty. He was so pleased to come. If you do not wish him to be here, he can be sent back at once.”
I was smiling. John Brown…in Osborne! I laughed. “I am pleased to have him here. Yes…very pleased. I was just wondering how John Brown would feel about being here.”
“John Brown is pleased to be where Your Majesty is, Ma'am.”
I felt very emotional. These dear good people were so concerned for my welfare.
* * *
I FELT SO much better now that John Brown was in attendance. He took care of me. He would lift me up and carry me if the occasion arose and without so much as a by your leave. He would put my cloak on for me and pin the brooch which held it. I was most amused one day when he pricked my chin. He said in a loud hectoring voice: “Hoots! Can ye no hold up yer head?” If he did not like what I was wearing, he would say, “What's that ye've got on?” It was so original, so outspoken. It was John Brown. But he was my good and faithful servant. If ever I was in danger he would be there to look after me.
I wrote to Uncle Leopold about him. “He is such a comfort. He is devoted to me, so simple, so intelligent, so unlike an ordinary servant.”
He was no longer merely a gillie. I
wanted him to be my personal servant. They did not know what to call him in the household and he became known as the Queen's Highland Servant.
I put up his wages and said I wished him to wait on me at all times. He used to come to me after breakfast and luncheon to get his orders and everything was always properly done; he was so quiet—taciturn almost— and had such a good memory. He was devoted, attached, and clever; and I felt his only object in life was serving me; and indeed, at this time, feeling the lack of Albert, I wanted more than anything to be taken care of.
He was a very good-looking man and I had a weakness for goodlooking men. They attracted me very much. Brown had a strong body, long legs, curly hair, and the bluest of eyes. I noticed most of all that he had a firm chin. I always noticed people's chins. Perhaps because I had a very weak one myself. It used to bother me when I was quite young and I was constantly examining mine in a mirror. Lehzen used to say, “You should not admire yourself so often, dearest. You are always peering into the looking glass.” I explained that I was not admiring but deploring. “You see, Lehzen,” I said, “I have hardly any chin at all.” Lehzen retorted, “Nonsense. You have as good a chin as anyone else.” But I knew that was not so. And one of the first things I noticed about John Brown was his chin.
I told him this one day. I said, “People with strong chins have great determination.”
He looked at me then and said with that frank honest manner of his, “Ye seem to manage very well, woman, without much of a one.” How very amusing! He made me laugh as I had not laughed since Albert died. So it had certainly done a great deal of good to bring John Brown south.
About this time Bertie and Alexandra went for a tour of the Continent. Naturally Alexandra wished to see her family. They had risen a great deal since we had first decided on Alexandra for Bertie. Alexandra's father had become King of Denmark and her brother King of Greece—and now her younger sister, Dagmar, was to marry the heir of Russia.
Well, they were a pleasant family—although I did not think much of the mother—and they were very fond of each other. The mother was too managing and it was disgraceful that she should paint her cheeks. However, I was glad for Alexandra's sake that they were no longer so poor and insignificant. She had suffered so much over that wretched SchleswigHolstein affair.
But it was tricky visiting so soon after the war. I was against it, but Alexandra was so eager to see her family. Bertie, who had been firmly for Denmark, I supposed because of his wife, made some very indiscreet remarks there about Prussia, which I was sure Vicky would hear of—and then there would be more of her vehement letters.
It was unthinkable that, at such a time, the Prince of Wales should visit Denmark and leave out Prussia. I sent orders that he was to leave at once for Stockholm, where he could take a short holiday incognito—as I did not want Vicky to know that he had gone to Denmark before going to her—and go from Stockholm to Prussia.
They acted most irresponsibly. Instead of passing through Sweden incognito, Bertie and Alexandra were entertained in the palace by the royal family; and worst of all, while they visited that Court, they had left the baby—whom we called Eddy—with King Christian and Queen Louise in Denmark.
I wrote furiously: Little Eddy was in line for the throne; he was his father's heir and his father was mine. If they did not return to Eddy at once, I should send someone to bring him to Windsor. Eddy's place, if not with his parents, was with me.
They returned immediately to Denmark and then the royal yacht took them into Kiel Harbor, where there was more trouble because Alexandra begged Bertie not to allow the Prussian flag to be flown.
I gathered that relations between Bertie and Vicky were cool. Their meeting was brief, which was diplomatic for Bertie and Alexandra had been so firmly against Prussia and had made their attitude known. They could not go to Berlin therefore and I knew they had only gone to Prussia because I had insisted that they should. The visit should never have been made at that time.
When they returned home, Alexandra was pregnant. Poor girl, I thought. It was not so long since she had given birth to Eddy. I wondered if she was going to prove as fertile as I had been. Children were all very well and one must have them—particularly if one was a queen—but the method! It made me quite nauseated to contemplate it. I was glad it was no longer possible for me to have children. But I could feel very sorry for Alexandra.
In due course the child was born. They called him George. Two sons! Alexandra was to be congratulated; and this time the little boy did not appear prematurely and he seemed healthier than his brother.
Alexandra was delighted with her children. She was a good mother, far more interested in them than I had been in mine. I often wondered about her life with Bertie. She seemed very fond of him, but I was sure that it was not in his nature to be a faithful husband. How sorry I was for that! It made me more than ever grateful for having had such a saintly man for my husband. Perhaps the children compensated her for having a really rather unreliable husband. I hoped so.
* * *
IT WAS NECESSARY for me to take a trip to Coburg for a statue of Albert was to be unveiled, and of course I must be the one to do it.
Traveling without Albert was a dreary business. It seemed that wherever I turned there was something to remind me.
All the children were with me. I had insisted on that.
“This is a memorial to your father,” I had said. “You must all be there.”
We were welcomed by Ernest and Alexandrina. How he had aged! I imagined he was still living an immoral life. Those sort of people do not change. I felt a resentment against fate for taking Albert and leaving him. He was older; he had suffered from a disgusting illness; he had led an irregular life—and he was the one to remain while Albert was taken!
He seemed fairly emotional when he talked of Albert, but I did not believe his grief went very deep.
Unveiling the statue was a very moving moment for me, revealing that dear face and remembering the time when he had been at this place with me. I showed the children all those spots that had been dear to him—his schoolroom, the sword marks on the wall, where he had fenced with Ernest, the forests he had loved, dear Rosenau.
Lenchen was very close to me at this time. She had taken Alice's place. She was a dear, good girl, with none of Vicky's cleverness, of course, and none of the arrogance that went with it.
It was while we were in Germany that we met Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg—a grand title for a man of very little means. He was young and handsome and managed to charm Lenchen, and she him. I liked to see young people happy together; they reminded me of Albert and myself. Before the visit was over it was obvious that my little Lenchen was going to be very unhappy if she said goodbye finally to her handsome Christian—and there was no doubt that he felt the same about her.
It would be said that he was not a very suitable match for a daughter of the Queen of England, for he was without hope of inheritance, being the younger brother of Duke Frederick, who had been one of the contestants in the struggle for Schleswig-Holstein; and his family had lost their estates when the Prussians were victorious.
However, they were touchingly in love and when Albert had married me he had very little. The Press had stressed that, Heaven knew, causing such anguish to my dear one. I should not stand in the way of love. If Lenchen and Christian could be happy together, then together they should be.
Nothing could be done about it immediately, of course; but when we left Germany, Lenchen was betrothed.
I could not leave the Continent without seeing Uncle Leopold. Poor Uncle Leopold! What a travesty of that handsome man I had known when a child. It was many years now since he had seemed to me the most wonderful being in the world; but I should never forget that he had been as a father to me. I had listened to him intently; I had believed that every word he uttered was divine wisdom. I should always love him. He was old and bent now. Worn out with physical pain and mental anguish, he said.
He had lost so many loved ones. Charlotte, Louise, and now Albert. We were able to talk of our grief and mingle our tears when we recalled Albert.
Uncle Leopold reminded me that when he had lost Charlotte he had devoted all his care and attention to me. He had planned for us, schemed for us, dreamed for us; and it was the greatest joy of his life when we were married.
He told me of his ailments in detail. He had always loved to talk of them and I did wonder how one who had suffered from so many could have lived for so long. Sometimes the thought came to me that he had enjoyed his ill health—as Stockmar had done. I believed that their ailments had, at the beginning, been the bond between them.
But he could not even now prevent himself from meddling. He talked a great deal about Bertie. I think he would have liked to advise Bertie, but Bertie was not the sort to listen to advice.
“I hear that he is very popular,” said Uncle Leopold. “The people like Alexandra, too.”
“Oh yes, she is good-looking and they like that… and there was all that hysteria about little Denmark.”
“It was unfortunate for Christian that as soon as he came to the throne it should have happened. We shall have the Prussians sweeping across Europe. All the little kingdoms will go. That is what Bismarck is after.”
“He is an odious man. Vicky abhors him. I am afraid her lot is not an easy one. It should have been so different. Albert always wanted her to be Queen of Prussia. He would have been able to advise her and Fritz how to deal with that upstart Bismarck.”
“He certainly is making his mark on Europe,” said Uncle Leopold. “Each day I wonder what he will do next.”
“He has accused Vicky of being pro-English,” I said indignantly. “Did you ever hear such impertinence! Of course she remembers the country of her birth.”
“Men like that are a menace to the world. I wanted to talk to you about matters nearer at home for you. The English are a very personal people. To continue to love people, they must see them.”
Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria Page 54
