Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Виктория Холт

  Then we had the dangerous Aylesford affair—another scandal involving Bertie. What a genius he had for getting himself into these scrapes. It was just as Albert had feared.

  Disraeli had a great interest in India. “One day I am going to make you Empress of India, Ma'am,” he said.

  I smiled at him. He really did care for me so much.

  He thought it would be a good idea if Bertie was sent to India.

  “A very good background for his particular sort of mischief, I imagine,” I said.

  “Dear Madam!”

  I smiled at him. “Well, you know Bertie has a habit of falling into mischief…”

  “He is a good ambassador. The people like him.”

  “He is too fond of fast women and gambling.”

  “The people often like their heroes to have feet of clay. It makes them feel so much more like heroes themselves. I think the Prince will do very well.”

  At length I decided that if the Prime Minister thought it advisable, it must be right.

  Bertie was delighted; Alexandra less so, for she was not to go with him.

  It was while he was in India that the trouble blew up. It was like the Mordaunt case all over again—with variations, of course. But Bertie being what he is, perhaps that was to be expected.

  Dizzy, as he was universally called—and I found myself thinking of him thus for Mr. Disraeli was too remote an appellation for such a friend—came to see me.

  “I'm afraid, Ma'am, that a little contretemps has blown up in the circle of the Prince of Wales.”

  “Oh dear… not women again!”

  “One woman, Ma'am.”

  “Do please explain. I must hear the worst.”

  “It is Lord Aylesford. His wife is threatening to divorce him.”

  “Oh no… not Bertie!”

  “Not exactly, Ma'am. I must give you the details as they have been given to me. Perhaps you did not know that Lord Aylesford is one of the Prince's greatest friends.”

  “I know very well. I was against his going on tour with the Prince, but I was overruled. He is a gambling, sporty type.”

  “Exactly so, Ma'am, and a member of the circle that is close to the Prince. I think he is considered to be a very amusing fellow.”

  “And Aylesford's wife?”

  “She was also on good terms with the Prince.”

  “I feared that.”

  “It is not on the Prince's account that Aylesford is threatening divorce. Lord Blandford is the man in the case. While Aylesford was in India, Lady Aylesford set up house with Blandford. News of this reached Aylesford and he left for home—rather against the Prince's wishes for he liked Aylesford's company a good deal. The Prince despised Blandford and made some comments about him that were brought to the notice of Blandford's younger brother—Lord Randolph Churchill.”

  “I never liked the man.”

  “A fiery-tempered young fellow. He was furious that his brother should have been slandered, he said. Particularly…”

  “Particularly?” I insisted.

  “By the Prince. I believe he recalled the Mordaunt scandal and er…”

  “Other scandals. You must tell me the truth you know, Mr. Disraeli.”

  “Exactly, Ma'am. Your Majesty is too wise and the situation too delicate for us to mince our words. The fact is that Churchill says he wants the divorce stopped. He is a hot-headed idiot, as indiscreet as a man can be. He wants the Prince to stop the divorce. He says that he must use his influence with Aylesford and stop him proceeding further.”

  “But why draw in the Prince?”

  “Churchill resents what the Prince said about his brother. He says the Churchill family honor is at stake. He is a wild, impetuous young man, capable of any folly in the heat of anger; the sort who can do a great deal of harm. He has already sought an interview with the Princess of Wales.”

  “Surely not! Oh, my poor Alexandra! It is bad enough for her to know of the Prince's… activities… but to be drawn into this!”

  “It was a ridiculous thing to do, but then Churchill is ridiculous.”

  “Why go to the Princess?”

  “He wants her to impress on the Prince that he must forbid Aylesford to start divorce proceedings.”

  “But what has the Prince to do with this?”

  “Ma'am, according to Churchill, the Prince has written letters to Lady Aylesford. When Aylesford threatened divorce, she gave these letters to Blandford. They are now in Churchill's possession and if Aylesford goes through with the divorce, the letters written by the Prince will be handed to the Press.”

  “This is terrible.”

  “I fear it is a little unpleasant.”

  “It reminds me of my Uncle George. He was always in difficulties with women and there were letters.”

  “It may well be that the letters are quite innocent.”

  I looked at him helplessly. “Churchill says that if these letters are published the Prince will never be able to sit on the throne.”

  I felt limp with exhaustion. If only Albert were here. He would know what to do. But if he were, how unhappy he would be! Perhaps I should be glad that he was not here…to suffer this.

  What an unpleasant situation! Churchill was adamant. I had never liked him. I would never receive him at Court—not him nor his American wife.

  I knew it was useless to rage against them and I knew, too, however innocent Bertie's part in all this—and I could hardly believe it was—the Press and public would make him appear guilty—and that was just as bad as though he were.

  What fools young men were, writing letters to women! One would have thought that they would have learned from the example of others— but they never seemed to.

  I was comforted to have Disraeli there. I felt that if anyone could bring us out of this unsavory matter, he could.

  “Will you leave this to me, Ma'am?” he asked.

  “Most willingly, my dear friend,” I told him.

  How clever he was! I know that he worked indefatigably for my good. He told me that he had approached Lord Hardwicke and impressed on him the danger of the situation and Lord Hardwicke had seen the point and promised to do what he could.

  I am sure it was due to Disraeli's efforts that we came out of that as well as we did. Between them Lord Hardwicke and Mr. Disraeli managed to get Lord Aylesford to stop proceedings; and by the time Bertie came home, the matter was settled.

  But as Disraeli said, there would have been rumors of the affair and it would be as well for Churchill to make an apology to the Prince.

  At first Churchill refused to do this, but when his family and friends pointed out that he would be ruined at Court if he did not, he complied.

  Bertie accepted the apology but Lord and Lady Randolph thought it necessary to travel abroad for a while and Bertie vowed that when he came back he would not receive him.

  So another unsavory matter was brought to an end.

  Dear, clever Mr. Disraeli.

  * * *

  HE WAS SUCH a brilliant statesman. His Indian policy had brought about what he so ardently desired. I was created Empress of India. How proud he was! Of course the Opposition had done their best to prevent this; and Disraeli had to compromise to a certain extent by assuring them that the title would only be used for matters dealing with India.

  I was worried about him for his health was not of the best, and I insisted on bestowing a peerage on him and he became Lord Beaconsfield.

  He had induced me to appear a little more in public and I had found the experience quite pleasurable. We had worked together over the Ashanti War and when it was over I had reviewed the soldiers, sailors, and marines, distributing medals. I attended a concert at the Royal Albert Hall and inspected the wonderful Memorial—so beautifully elaborate with its large gilded figure of Albert in the center.

  There was trouble in Europe that made us very watchful. It was like the Crimean War all over again. Turkey and the Balkans were at loggerheads and Russia was threatening to c
ome in.

  Disraeli followed in Lord Palmerston's footsteps. He said that our interests in India and everywhere dictated that Turkey must not be violated. The Turks behaved with great ferocity in the Balkans and Mr. Gladstone who, a little while before, had announced his retirement came back to fulminate against the Turks because of the atrocities they had committed, and declared he was against any English support for Turkey.

  I was furious with Gladstone. Self-righteous and moralizing, he was preventing Disraeli from acting as he thought best. Disraeli was a great enough politician to realize that personal feelings of repugnance must stand aside when the nation's interests were at stake.

  Russia must be kept out. I wrote to Alice who was very concerned about the conflict; and she had a meeting with the Tsar at Darmstadt when he assured her that he had no desire to come into conflict with England.

  So much for his promise. Russia almost immediately declared war on Turkey and in a short time was victorious.

  I was very distressed when the Sultan made an appeal to me to beg the Russians to make lenient peace terms. As if Russia would do that! The terms were harsh and Disraeli suggested that we demand the settlement be agreed by a congress of European states.

  This was an alarming situation and we were on the brink of war with Russia. I daresay Gladstone would have retreated; but not Lord Beaconsfield—and I stood firmly with him.

  I shall never forget the day when Lord Beaconsfield came to me in a very serious frame of mind.

  He said, “We must at all costs prevent Russia from getting a foothold in the south of the Danube.”

  I knew what those ominous words “at all costs” meant.

  I told him that I felt complete confidence in him and he must take the risk.

  He left for Berlin where the conference was to be held and I was greatly disturbed when I heard that he and Prince Gortchakoff had reached deadlock, and Beaconsfield had remarked that if they could not come to an agreement the dispute would have to be settled “by other means.”

  I daresay Russia was not so eager to enter into conflict with us as she was with little Turkey; and a compromise was reached. Lord Beaconsfield returned home, bringing with him, as he said, “Peace with honor.”

  I was delighted to see him and welcomed him warmly. I was determined that all should know how I appreciated the good work he had done for the country, and I awarded him the Order of the Garter.

  I suppose everyone knew of the happy relationship I enjoyed with my Prime Minister. I was certainly seeing more of people and they all knew that I had paid a visit to his country seat at Hughenden when I had planted a tree in honor of the occasion.

  With the companionship of Lord Beaconsfield and the faithful attendance of John Brown, I felt I was very fortunate.

  * * *

  LEOPOLD WAS A continual anxiety. He had just recovered from a very bad illness. I was always so worried even if he were only slightly ill. I dreaded that fearful bleeding. He was so reckless. He wanted to live as other people did—and I could understand that, but he assumed a certain indifference to danger, which was very worrying for me.

  I was slightly more reconciled to Bertie. Everybody liked him though none looked up to him, but it seemed that his character was the key to his popularity. Everyone had looked up to Albert—or should have done— but not many people really liked him.

  Bertie was always considerate to the servants, and as I was the same, I liked that in him.

  There are often troubles in families. I knew that Vicky was having trouble with young Wilhelm. He had always been an arrogant child, and I supposed that, to one of his temperament, having a deformed arm must be very frustrating. He always signed himself “Prince Wilhelm of Prussia” even to me. He was so proud of being Prussian and made no secret of the fact that he despised his English blood, which enraged me. He actively disliked Vicky, it seemed—his own mother! What infuriated him most, I believe, was that England was more important in the world than Germany, and Bismarck and his grandparents had instilled in him that this must not always be so. He never defended his mother when people spoke against her—which they did often because she was half-English. He laughed with them at her and her foreign ways. I knew Vicky was most distressed about this son of hers.

  There was one thing that endeared Bertie to me. He might be unsatisfactory in many ways, but I was sure he would never listen to disparagement of me. He was a good son if one could forget those peccadilloes he fell into, mostly with regard to women.

  Then there was Arthur. He was the most like Albert of all my children, and I never thought he would marry; but quite suddenly he fell in love and in an unexpected direction.

  He chose Princess Louise Margaret, daughter of Prince Frederick Charles—a nephew of the German Emperor—and Princess Marianne of Prussia. It was rather an unfortunate choice because the Prince and Princess were separated. I wished he would not rush into this. If he had wanted to marry I could have found him a more suitable bride. But Arthur had made up his mind and I had never believed in forcing the children into a marriage that was distasteful to them.

  However, when I met the girl I found her quite charming; and although she was not good-looking she had a very pleasant profile. I thought it was rather wonderful of Arthur to have rescued her from a broken home and I told myself that Louischen—which by this time she had become—was more likely to appreciate a man like Arthur and make a good marriage because she had experience, through her parents, of the other kind.

  I wrote to Vicky telling her how sorry I was about Wilhelm's behavior. It made me realize that I was rather fortunate after all. Alfred and Leopold were often careless and wanting in consideration; Arthur had always been good and attentive; and I was beginning to think that those terrible scrapes through which Bertie had passed had been a lesson to him. And I did not think that any one of them would tolerate anyone's speaking ill of me.

  But the child I was really worried about was Alice. She was not in good health. Bearing all those children had been too much for her. She was devoted to them all and had suffered tragically when little Frittie had died. He had been cursed with that terrible disease which it seemed passed through the family to the sons by the mothers. I had passed it on to Leopold and Alice had to Frittie. She had never really recovered from his death.

  Almost immediately after, the Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt had died and Louis had succeeded him; and although it was a small state, much diminished by that odious Bismarck, official duties weighed heavily.

  Alice was first and foremost a family person. She had been my devoted daughter—little Fatima, the placid one. When she married, of course, she had moved away from me, and we had had our little upsets; but she was still the best-loved child.

  I was in a state of horror when I heard that her daughter Victoria had diphtheria and she was very ill indeed. Two days later her daughter Alix—called Alicky—caught it; then Baby May was the next victim. Then Ernest, her only son, and Ella.

  It was November when the telegrams came. It was a time of year that I had dreaded since Albert's death. Memories always came back to me more vividly at that time. I had come to think of the fourteenth of December as a day of ill omen, when horrible catastrophes would overtake me. Bertie had come near to death on that date and by a miracle survived. But I did dread that time of year.

  Alice had only six children left to her. They were the center of her life. She was essentially the mother I had never been. How she must have suffered when that little one had fallen from the window … and in a moment of delight at seeing her!

  I waited eagerly for news. I could not sleep and the first thing I looked for in the mornings was news of Alice.

  It came and it was very depressing. Louis had caught the terrible disease and Alice herself was the only one who was well.

  I wrote pages to her. She must take care of herself. She must leave the care of her family to nurses. She must never go close to them for that was how the disease was passed on. She must not be tempted to
embrace or kiss them. She must leave the entire care of them in the hands of servants, doctors, and nurses.

  Alice wrote back almost indignantly. I did not seem to understand. This was her beloved family. Did I imagine she would leave them in the hands of others? Indeed no. She was going to nurse them herself.

  Lord Beaconsfield came and shared my grief.

  “I wish that I could go there,” I cried. “I would nurse them. I would send Alice away to safety. Dear Lord Beaconsfield, she is the most loved of all my children. She was always so different…so gentle. Albert loved her, although Vicky was his favorite… but Alice was mine. She was such a good girl. She and Arthur are the only two in the least like their father. If I caught the disease, what would it matter? My life finished on that tragic fourteenth of December.”

  He looked at me sorrowfully and said, “Dear Madam.”

  I smiled faintly. He was such a comfort to me.

  There was further sad news. Little May—five years old, the baby and pet of the household, had died.

  Alice's grief was terrible. The whole family was stricken.

  The worst was to come. I heard afterward what had happened. Her son, Ernest, who was also a victim, was so sorrowful when he heard of his little sister's death, and feeling that he himself would be the next, had turned to his mother in an access of grief, and she had embraced and kissed him.

  The result of that embrace was that Alice herself was stricken.

  This was what I had feared and I summoned as many of the family as I could and told them. They were in despair. Alice had been greatly loved and it was only two days to the fourteenth of December.

  I was proud of them all as they gathered around to comfort me. Bertie was as charming as he knew how to be, and was especially so on occasions like this.

  I prayed to God. I prayed to Albert. I tried to make terms with the Almighty. Save Alice and take me instead. Give me Alice and do anything You will. I had already, on that other fateful fourteenth been dealt the cruellest blow that could possibly have befallen me and I was ready to face anything—just anything in return for Alice's life.