by Jean Plaidy
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.”
I sighed. It was the old complaint.
“Dear Uncle, I believe you do not understand my feelings.”
“I do. I do. I loved him myself. I have felt the deepest grief.”
“It is not the same,” I said sharply. “He was my husband. We were hardly separated for twenty years… day and night…”
“I know, I know. But you are the Queen. Unless you want to hand over the crown to Bertie, you must show that you have some regard for your position.”
“Regard for my position! Do you think I ever forget?”
“I don't think so. But the people might. Bertie and Alexandra are constantly before the public in every imaginable way. The people must not forget that the Queen wears the crown.”
“I rode through the streets in my open carriage. You should have seen the people. I was greeted with far more enthusiasm than Bertie ever had.”
“I know it, and it bears out what I have said. You must try to emerge… gradually if you wish. But it is never wise to go against the wishes of the people.”
I looked at him fondly. Dear interfering Uncle Leopold; he was so pathetic with his built-up shoes to give him height, the color in his cheeks, faintly but appreciably artificial, and that wig of luxuriant curls, which was too young for his wrinkled face.
I kissed him tenderly.
I did not know then that would be the last time I was to see him.
THAT OCTOBER I suffered a shock. Lord Palmerston died. I had never liked him and I had always had the impression that he was laughing at me. Lord Melbourne had been a little like that, but he had smiled tenderly, whereas Lord Palmerston had been amused in a ridiculing sort of way.
By a strange coincidence Lord Palmerston died at Brocket Hall, the same house in which Lord Melbourne had died. Of course Palmerston had married Lord Melbourne's sister and the house became hers, so that was understandable—but I still thought it odd.
When people die one remembers the good things about them. There could not have been two men less alike than Albert and Lord Palmerston; and that speaks for itself. Palmerston had few of Albert's good qualities. He had been a rake and a dandy; but he had also been a good politician. Someone said of him that he had the great gift of judging the mood of the House and adjusting his utterances to it, which was one of the reasons why he had almost invariably carried opinion with him; he had been honest in politics and would not diverge from what he believed to be good for the country; he had the two most important assets for a politician: Courage and Confidence.
He was, therefore, a loss to the nation. I hated death; I hated a change of scene. Little things could change here and there almost unnoticed— and then suddenly the entire picture was different.
I thought of all the tussles we had had and I smiled at them now. He had been so outspoken and he had shown clearly that while he respected the crown, he saw those who wore it as frail human beings—which common sense told me was true. So when I heard of his death I was sad and I remembered not the irritation he had given me but his masterly conduct of the country in times of crisis.
We should miss Lord Palmerston.
It was only two months later when I was shattered by news of another death. This touched me more closely. It was hard to imagine a world that did not contain Uncle Leopold.
I had to shut myself away. I had to be alone to think back on all those happy times of my childhood. The visits to Claremont; the joy of seeing him. I remembered sitting on his knee and looking up into his beautiful face, for when he was young he was extremely handsome. I remembered how he had taught me to be good and prepare myself for a great destiny. It was he who had found Albert for me and brought us together.
He had been part of my life and now
he was gone.
There had been little differences. After all I had my storms even with Albert. But how much he had meant to me when I was a child…and after.
He had expressed a wish to be buried at Windsor. I knew how close he felt to this country and that it had been his great ambition to rule it… with Charlotte; and although that had been denied him, his love for England had not changed.
I set about planning the ceremonial funeral that we would give him at Windsor; but when I was in the midst of my plans, I heard that the Belgian government refused to send his body to England. He was the King of the Belgians, they said; and therefore he must be buried in Belgium.
I was very angry.
“Was there nothing we could do?” I demanded.
Nothing, said Lord John. Leopold had been King of the Belgians, and they would have him interred in Belgium.
So Uncle Leopold did not come to England.
Lenchen and Louise tried to comfort me. Brown was scornful, implying that it was no matter over which to lose any sleep.
“He's gone and that's an end of it,” he said.
“It is because they are Catholics,” I explained. “I think that is the main objection.”
“Catholics are nasty beggars,” said John Brown.
“Oh Brown,” I said with a little laugh, “you are incorrigible.”
“I'm here to look after you, woman,” he said, “and blubbering over a grave is nae good for ye health.”
What a man! My spirits were lifted just to listen to his quaint way of expressing himself and his good, honest, frank way of doing it.
ON THE DEATH of Palmerston, I had called in Lord John, who had gone into the House of Lords as Earl Russell, and asked him to take Palmerston's place. My dear friend Lord Clarendon was given the post of Foreign Secretary, which Russell had hitherto held; and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, William Gladstone, became Leader of the House.
That year Alfred was coming of age and Lenchen's marriage was taking place. They would need grants and I was very eager that there should not be unpleasantness in Parliament about this.
