Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Jean Plaidy

  This was to be called the Victoria Cross and it was to take the form of a Maltese cross and to be made of bronze. The royal crown formed the center, mounted by a lion; about the crown was a scroll on which were the words for valor. We had at first thought that the words should be for the brave, but that seemed to suggest that all of those who had not received the cross were not brave. for valor seemed more to the point; the ribbon was blue for the navy and red for the army; and branches of laurel decorated the clasp, while the cross was supported from inside by the initial V.

  If a man received the Victoria Cross and performed a further act of bravery worthy of it, he should have a bar across the ribbon; and in the case of non-commissioned officers and men there was to be a pension of ten pounds a year, and an extra five for a bar.

  I had the pleasure of meeting that very wonderful woman Miss Florence Nightingale who had done such excellent work by actually going out to the battlefields with her nurses.

  When she was back in England I invited her to the Palace to dine with me. I was so surprised and so moved to meet her; she was quite attractive, gentle, and ladylike…a delightful and amazing woman.

  I told her how I envied her because she had done so much for our men; and that I had thought of her often during the darkest days, walking along the corridors of the hospital with her lamp—an inspiration to us all.

  Over dinner she told me what life in the Crimea had been like and her stories were both heart-breaking and heart-warming.

  I said to Albert afterward that meeting people like Miss Nightingale and hearing of our brave soldiers and nurses restored my faith in the world and made me forget for a while all those horrible people who were trying to make trouble.

  And finally the wretched war was over. How I rejoiced. Albert and I discussed the terms of peace, and Albert said he was quite satisfied with them. The Black Sea was secure for a while; Russia was humiliated and Turkey was safe.

  At home there was great rejoicing. How happy I was, standing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace acknowledging the cheers of the people. I went down to Spithead to review the fleet; and in Aldershot I rode past the troops and the soldiers cheered me with enthusiasm, taking off their helmets and waving them above their heads; and the dragoons lifted their sabres and waved them while everyone shouted, “God Save the Queen.”

  I was delighted to have Bertie with me. It was amazing how good he was on occasions like this. It was only book learning that defeated him. He looked very fine on his horse and the people shouted, “Long Live the Prince of Wales,” which he acknowledged with a dignity that made me proud of him.

  I told Albert about this afterward and he smiled and said, “Oh yes, Bertie is very good at receiving thanks for what he has not done.”

  “They were applauding him because he is the heir to the throne.”

  “Exactly,” said Albert. “All he has to do is be. That he does nothing does not matter in the least.”

  “He is rather young as yet to have done anything.”

  “Except work hard and prepare himself.”

  I did not pursue the matter. I was too happy to want to indulge in a storm.

  It was wonderful that the people liked Bertie and he enjoyed parading before them; and most glorious of all: The wretched war was over.

  I HAD BEEN fortunate in escaping pregnancy for so long, but it could not continue. In the midst of all this excitement I discovered it had happened again!

  Thanks to blessed chloroform, I did not regard the birth with such horror as I had done in the past; although of course there was the discomfort that could not be avoided.

  And in due course I gave birth to my ninth child—a girl. I was very grateful for the blissful effects of the chloroform and I submitted to its administration with the utmost eagerness. Beatrice Mary Victoria Feodore was an April baby. Thank Heaven she was strong and healthy, unlike little Leopold who gave us such cause for anxiety. My conscience was eased by little Beatrice because I had had a nagging fear that my taking the chloroform might have had an effect on Leopold. The health of my little girl showed me clearly that this was not the case as I had enjoyed the same relief in giving birth to her…We had to choose with the utmost care those who would supply our baby's needs for we had had a terrible shock about a year after Leopold's birth to discover that his wet nurse Mary Brough had gone mad and murdered her six children. The idea of such a woman being in close contact with one of my children horrified me. I was thankful to Sir James Clark who had noticed that Mary Brough was a little strange after she had been with us for a while and had suggested a change. He had found a woman from Cowes so Mary Brough was not with Leopold for very long.

  Such experiences made one very wary. However, Beatrice thrived and the whole family soon became devoted to Baby, as we called her.

  In June of that year I presented the first of the Victoria Crosses. There was a review in Hyde Park which was very splendid and moving and during it I pinned a medal onto the breasts of sixty-two men who were considered worthy to receive it.

  Albert had suggested that now that Vicky was growing up and soon to be married, she might dine with us. I did not really wish this because these were the occasions when Albert and I were alone, and I cherished them. Now they were to be shared with Vicky.

  Albert paid great attention to her and I would find myself often outside the conversation—which was rather galling.

  Vicky was quick-witted, and as she was as devoted to Albert as he to her—or almost—she made a great effort to say what he wished her to say, and I must admit she had the art of being controversial when that most amused him and acquiescent when that was the mood he sought. There was great rapport between them. They understood each other completely.

  I loved my daughter; I was proud of her; but I did know that she was not the perfect being Albert believed her to be.

  She was certainly vain; she loved admiration; she was willful; she had enjoyed scoring over Bertie. Well, I suppose she was human. I could have accepted that if Albert had not believed she was such a little paragon. I was surprised that he, who should be so clear-sighted in everything else, should be so blind about Vicky.

  Vicky was coquettish, inclined to be flirtatious; and Albert saw none of this. I remembered one occasion when we were driving she let her handkerchief fall over the side of the carriage. It was clear to me that she wanted the equerries to vie with each other for the favor of bringing it back to her. Realizing this, I stopped the carriage and I told her to get out and pick it up herself. She looked at me shrewdly, understanding that I saw into her mind. Perhaps being of the same sex I was more aware of those little foibles than Albert was.

  Time was passing. I was in a state of uncertainty. There were times when I dreaded losing Vicky. Sometimes she seemed so young, so vulnerable; and I thought of my child going into a strange country. The Prussians were not exactly a merry people. Indeed, they were very serious, very rigid in their ideas; and I felt uneasy about her. And yet, on the other hand, when she had gone, I should have Albert more to myself.

  At dinner, I used to long for ten o'clock when Vicky would leave us and I should have the rare happiness of being alone with Albert.

  Once in one of our storms Albert accused me of wanting to get rid of Vicky. I was horrified, and yet there was a glimmer of truth in it.

  The time had come when the wedding dominated our thoughts. With the prospect, there was the humiliating necessity of getting agreement in Parliament for Vicky's grant. I always hated this haggling over money and dreaded it, but I must say that Palmerston was magnificent. He knew how to handle these matters and—in spite of my feelings in the past—we could not have had a better man at the head of affairs at this time.

  “The way to do it, Ma'am,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “is to sound out the Opposition before taking the matter into the House. We get agreement before we put it up to the vote.”

  How right he was! And there were only eighteen dissensions, which was really infinitesima
l. Vicky was given a dowry of £80,000 and £8,000 a year, which seemed quite satisfactory.

  Owing to the opposition of the uncles Albert had never been given the title due to him. Every time the subject had been raised there had been howls of protest. Those uncles had all been afraid that Albert would take precedence over them. But now they were dead.

  Albert was very concerned that one day, when he and Bertie were in the public eye, Bertie would take precedence over him. It would be very disconcerting for a father to have to take second place to his son. Of course Bertie was the Prince of Wales and if I should die, he would be King and stand above all. And without hope of any title Albert would be of little importance.

  I discussed the matter with Lord Palmerston, who suggested that we should get Parliament to agree that Albert should be given the title of Prince Consort.

  As he could not be King—and I saw this—I would be content with that title for Albert, and I left it in the capable hands of Lord Palmerston.

  My horror was great when, just as I had thought the matter was to be settled, Palmerston came to tell me that the Lord Chancellor had discovered a legal impediment and that there would have to be an Act of Parliament to create Albert Prince Consort.

  I was furious. They seemed to delight in humiliating Albert. Everything he did for their good was forgotten; they only remembered that he was a poor German who had become rich because he was the husband of the Queen. I was determined, though, that he should have some title. He should not go unrecognized any longer. I declared I would create him Prince Consort by letters patent.

  Lord Palmerston smiled approvingly and said, “Why not, Ma'am.”

  And so, at last, after all these years, it was done.

  A TERRIBLE DISASTER struck us. There was mutiny in India. I could not believe the horrific reports that kept coming in to me.

  The Indians had arisen and were killing our people. Lord Palmerston came to see me. His calmness irritated me.

  “Why? Why?” I demanded.

  “It is difficult to say why, Ma'am. I would guess it has come about because of the rapid advances European civilization has been making, with the result that it is absorbing the national institutions of the country. Remember we have recently taken in the Punjab and Oude; and the Indians no doubt think that we intend to annex the whole of India, disregarding their old customs and faith. The Sepoys have been victorious under English command, and doubtless they think they can win battles on their own.”

  “They must be subdued…at once.”

  “As soon as possible, Your Majesty.”

  I was haunted by the terrible things that were happening. Our people to be submitted to torture and death! It was unacceptable, I said to Palmerston. What was being done?

  “Everything possible,” he replied.

  “It is not enough,” I retorted.

  “I want action.”

  “It is fortunate for me that Your Majesty is not on the Opposition benches,” said Lord Palmerston.

  He gave the impression of frivolity, but I knew he was very seriously concerned. It was just his manner. He could never show panic. He must face every situation with a calmness and glint of humor—though where the humor was in this appalling tragedy I failed to see.

  I think what shocked me more than anything were the atrocities committed on women and children. I was haunted by horrific visions; I found sleep impossible. Whatever I turned to there was this terrible mutiny in India hanging over me like a black shadow.

  The cause of the uprising was said to be that the Sepoys believed that cartridges were greased with the fat of beef or pork and thus rendered unclean for both Hindu and Mohammedan; they thought it was a plot to destroy their caste.

  I did not entirely believe this and thought they might be in revolt against the rules laid down by the East India Company.

  Of course we were stronger than they were and they could not stand out against us for long. Sir John Lawrence was magnificent and with the help of Brigadier Napier and General Roberts, the mutiny was subdued. The Sepoys were handled with a firm but not severe hand, and the Sikhs were only too pleased to take advantage of British rule. What was most important of all was the transference of the administration of India from the East India Company to the Crown.

  Lord Canning was the Governor-General, and I let it be known that the Indian people were my subjects, and there was no hatred for a brown skin. The color of skin was immaterial to me. It was my greatest wish to see them happy, contented, and flourishing.

  Such a disaster had its effect. Oddly enough, Lord Palmerston slipped from his pedestal. How fickle was the mob! The hero of yesterday was the villain of today. Had not I myself seen that clearly enough. Disraeli had been somewhat vociferous about the mutiny and said he had seen trouble coming and had warned of it, only to be ignored. A new hero perhaps? In any case, poor Pam was out of favor.

  I had to admire him. He simply did not care. He was after all about seventy-five years of age.

  “It is incredible,” said Albert. “A short time ago, he was said to be the great English statesman, the champion of liberty, and the man of the people. Now, without having changed in one respect, having the same virtues and faults that he always had and having succeeded in his policies, he is considered the head of a clique, the man of intrigue… past his work … In fact he is the target for hatred.”

  It was true. But one could not hope for logic from the mob. Palmerston shrugged his shoulders. He laughed at the people and went on just as before, a decrepit old dandy in his brightly colored coat and trousers, his touched-up complexion and dyed whiskers.

  I had to admire him, because I had come to realize that he was a brilliant statesman.

  The Great Disaster

  THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED THAT TOOK PEOPLE'S MINDS OFF mutiny. A man called Felice Orsini, in company with three others, had attempted to assassinate Napoleon III. We were horrified. Apparently the Emperor and Empress were in their carriage on the way to the opera when these men threw three bombs at the carriage. Although the Emperor and Empress were unhurt, ten people were killed and a hundred and fifty wounded. The men responsible were arrested; and the unfortunate fact was that Orsini had been living in England and the bombs had been made in our country, which drew us into it in a measure and I should have been more comfortable if they had been somewhere else, for the incident created a distinct coolness between us and the French, which was disappointing after all the efforts we had made to bring about friendly relations.

  Orsini was a revolutionary and his great object was to bring Italy to revolt. In his opinion Napoleon was one of those who had helped to prevent it. Hence his desire to kill him.

  It was a horrible incident to have taken place, just as we were about to celebrate the wedding. I was so relieved that the Emperor had survived this wicked attack, and sent dispatches congratulating him on his escape.

  We could not however let all this prevent our going ahead with the preparations for Vicky's wedding, which was fixed for the twenty-fifth of January; and a week or so before that, members of Albert's family began to arrive at Buckingham Palace. It was very touching to see dear Uncle Leopold again. He had aged considerably. Aunt Louise's death had been a great blow to him, and before that there had been all the trouble about her father's fall from power. It was sad what the years could do. Albert's brother, Ernest, was present, as debonair as ever and Albert was delighted to see him. The bridegroom's parents were naturally among the guests. What a large gathering it was! I must say that, though I found the older German relations very pleasant, I did not greatly care for the younger men with their exaggerated mustaches and saber cuts on their faces of which they were so proud because they had received them in dueling. Honorable scars, they called them. I called them evidence of folly!

  Poor Albert was torn between the delight of seeing his family and the prospect of losing Vicky, which was making him more and more depressed every day.

  There was a state dinner party, which was a very g
rand affair; a gala performance of Macbeth was given at Her Majesty's Theater in honor of the wedding; and there was a grand ball.

  And then the great day had come. I could not but be reminded of my own wedding day. So much had happened since that glorious day when Albert and I were married. I had grown so far from that frivolous, pleasure-loving girl who thought the height of bliss was to stay up dancing into the early hours of morning. Albert had taught me so much. What a lot I owed him. What a lot the country owed him. However could I have lived through those years without him! And now here I was, Queen of this beloved country, mother of nine children. No wonder I was overcome with emotion; it was happy emotion. Not so Albert's. He could not bear the thought of parting with his daughter.

  I wrote a note to Vicky as soon as I awoke. I found such relief in writing; it was always so much easier to say what I had in my mind if I put it on paper. I told her how important marriage was; it was a holy and intimate union, and that I believed it meant more to women than to men.

  Vicky came in while I was dressing; she kissed me with emotion and thanked me for my note. She gave me a brooch containing a lock of her hair, and said she hoped she would be worthy of me, which touched me deeply.

  She wanted to be dressed in my room so that I could tell her if all was well. How enchanting she looked in her white silk gown trimmed with Honiton lace. Albert came in and Vicky was daguerreotyped with us. It was very moving and I could not keep still, and so it came out rather blurred. And then it was time to go.

  When we left Buckingham Palace for St. James's, the streets were filled with cheering crowds. It was so like that other day eighteen years ago—and yet so different. Memories were certain to come on such a day. In Vicky's place I saw myself—a young and innocent girl, perhaps more innocent than Vicky. Young people were more advanced than they used to be, and I had led a very sheltered life. Oh yes, changes indeed. Lord Palmerston carried the Sword of State. I could not help being reminded of my poor dear Lord Melbourne who had been so proud of me on that day. I remembered how he had looked at me with tears in his eyes, and afterward he had said, “You did splendidly, Ma'am.” Such a wonderful comfort that had been to me.