Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Jean Plaidy

  Lord John urged me to come to London to open Parliament; and I felt that, in the circumstances, although it was five years since I had done so, I must give way on this occasion.

  So I agreed to on condition that the ceremony should be performed without the usual fanfare of trumpets and gilded trappings, which normally accompanied it. The state carriage was replaced by another of more modern style although it was drawn by eight cream-colored horses. And I did not wish to wear the robes of state, but had them laid on a chair beside me. I was dressed in black with the type of cap that is always associated with Mary Stuart; my garments being brightened by the Ribbon of the Garter.

  The people greeted me with warmth and it was clear that they were pleased to see me. I acknowledged their greetings rather solemnly because I wanted them to realize that I was still in mourning.

  I was glad when there was no haggling about the allowances, and rather surprised that not a voice was raised in opposition. Helena was granted a dowry of £30,000 and an annuity of £6,000; and Alfred was to have a yearly sum of £15,000, which would be raised to £25,000 on his marriage.

  This was very gratifying.

  Later I went to Aldershot to review the troops.

  I was pleased to hear that Mary of Cambridge had become engaged to the Duke of Teck. This gave me gratification because Mary was no longer young and she was too large to be really attractive. Moreover the Duke of Teck was connected with the Saxe-Coburg family, so I heartily approved of the match.

  I attended Mary's wedding at Kew, dressed in deepest black in case anyone should think I had forgotten Albert; and a month later my dear Lenchen was married at Windsor

  I WAS VERY alarmed by the conflict growing between Prussia and Austria. Having taken Schleswig-Holstein, they were now quarreling over the spoils. I understood what they wanted. It was the unification of German States, and the question was who should be at the head of them. Bismarck was determined that it should be Prussia, and he had not talked of Blood and Iron for nothing.

  The struggle cut through the family. The Crown Prince naturally stood with Prussia, but Alice's Louis and my poor blind Cousin George of Hanover were for Austria. The idea of having two sons-in-law fighting against each other was abhorrent to me.

  I knew that Albert would have wanted to see Prussia dominant; but the situation had changed since Albert's death, and I wondered what his feelings would be now. His hope had been that Vicky would one day be Queen of Prussia, and if Prussia succeeded it would mean that Vicky and Fritz would be two of the most powerful sovereigns in Europe. But what of Alice and Louis? What of poor blind George?

  I begged Lord Russell to do everything possible to prevent war. I offered to act as mediator between the two states. Bismarck was almost contemptuous in his refusal. What an odious man! It was an unhappy day when he rose to power.

  Not only was there all this trouble abroad, but domestic difficulties arose. Lord Russell told me that he thought the government might be defeated over the Bill they had recently introduced. I knew that we needed this matter of the extended franchise settled, and that it had been going on for a long time.

  Lord Russell said, “Your Majesty's government thinks you should remain at Windsor instead of going to Balmoral this spring, for if a ministerial crisis arose, you should be on the spot.”

  I refused, and really I believed I was far more worried about what was happening on the Continent than at home.

  The Reform Bill was in committee when the storm broke and war between Prussia and Austria broke out. Almost immediately Lord Russell sent his resignation to Balmoral.

  I was very annoyed. I wrote to him that in the present state of Europe, I thought it was apathetic of the government to abandon their posts in consequence of a defeat on detail in a matter which demanded concessions on both sides. I asked him to reconsider their decision.

  Lord Russell was adamant. I retorted that his withdrawal was betrayal; and I stayed on at Balmoral.

  Lord Derby then accepted office and Benjamin Disraeli was the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House. But it was the war in Europe that gave me sleepless nights. I wrote to Alice telling her to send her children to me because I had a terrible feeling that HesseDarmstadt was not going to stand out against the Prussians. I sent linen for the wounded. It was a dreadful feeling to be supporting Fritz's enemies, but his enemies were my beloved daughter and her husband. Strife in the family is like Civil War—the most heartrending conflict of them all.

  The Prussians overran Hanover, depriving poor George of his throne. He took refuge in Paris with his family. At least his life was saved.

  Then … the war was over. In seven weeks. Prussia was victorious. Bismarck was getting his wish. Prussia's grasp of the Imperial Crown of Germany was in sight.

  And the price: Hanover, part of the British Crown, was ours no longer. The First George had brought it to us, and I should have been its Queen but for the Salic Law. Now that had passed out of our hands. Poor Louis had lost much of his territory and was greatly reduced in power— as were the smaller German States.

  They would soon all be under one rule—that of the all-powerful Prussia. It had been a time of distress and I was glad to stay in Balmoral to discuss an account of Albert's early life, which was to be published. I was helping to compile this with my secretary, General Grey; and although I wept bitterly over the letters—of which it mainly consisted—I could absorb myself completely and it was almost like having Albert with me.

  When the book appeared it was a great success; and I decided that there should be a biography of Albert and for this I called in Sir Theodore Martin; and he set to work.

  I was so engrossed in the work and the company of these men who seemed to have a special understanding of Albert that I decided to publish some writings of my own. I had always kept an account of day-to-day happenings and I went through some of them. It was amazing how those words brought back memories of the bygone days, so that I felt I was living them again.

  Early in the following year my Leaves from a Journal of Our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861 appeared. It was a great success. Of course it was very simply written and from the heart, and I think people began to realize then my devotion to Albert, and to understand why I felt the need to shut myself away and mourn.

  I was getting to know Benjamin Disraeli, and I found him a very interesting man. Albert had not liked him very much. He was sure he dyed his hair. Perhaps he did but he was certainly most gracious in his manners, and what a respect he had for Albert! This made me warm to him and I found that I could talk to him easily. He was extremely clever; he was an author of some note and because I myself liked to write that was an added interest we had in each other.

  He gave me a copy of his novel Sybil and I was very touched to see that it was dedicated to The Perfect Wife.

  I said, “You had the perfect wife, Mr. Disraeli. I had the perfect husband.”

  He looked at me with great emotion and replied, “It is the greatest good fortune, Ma'am, to find the perfect partner; and those to whom this falls are indeed to be envied.”

  I could talk about Albert to him; he responded glowingly. He had always had the greatest respect for Albert, he told me. He had always seen him as the great statesman.

  When Leaves from a Journal was published he came to congratulate me. “I know how we authors feel when we see our work in print,” he said.

  I laughed and replied that I was not an author in the sense that he was, but he thrust that aside and said that Leaves would live as long as literature lasted.

  “I shall never forget the dedication: ‘To the dear memory of him who made the life of the writer bright and happy, these simple records are gratefully inscribed.' ”

  “You remember it perfectly, Mr. Disraeli.”

  “Ma'am, such words are not easily forgotten.”

  I felt my spirits lifted; and my thoughts went back to those days when Lord Melbourne had made me so happy.

  I believed I
was going to find great comfort in Mr. Disraeli.

  IT WAS HARDLY to be expected that the people would allow me to rest in peace. It was difficult for them to understand how helpful John Brown was to me with his blunt manners and wonderful fidelity. They must besmirch everything that was good. I would never forget what they had said of Albert; now they turned their attention to John Brown, and it was their aim to hurt me through that excellent creature.

  There was even a rumor that I had married him! But that was so absurd that I could only dismiss it as ridiculous. Memories of long ago came back to me. Ascot and that insidious and wicked murmur of “Mrs. Melbourne,” simply because a beautiful friendship had existed between us. Now they were turning their crude thoughts to John Brown…and me! They seemed to have forgotten that I was the Queen.

  I tried to think what Lord Melbourne would have said if he could have heard these rumors. Or Lord Palmerston even. They were ridiculous, too absurd—and yet they persisted.

  “Mrs. John Brown,” they were calling me. How dared they. And they were so blatant. Punch had published an imaginary Court Circular headed Balmoral.

  “Mr. John Brown walked on the slopes. He partook of a haggis. In the evening Mr. John Brown was pleased to listen to a bagpipe.”

  A scurrilous paper called the Tomahawk was publishing pieces that were all insolent and defamatory. There was one cartoon with a caption: “Where is Britannia?” The robes of state were depicted draped over a throne with a crown perched precariously on the top of them, and obviously in a position soon to topple over, which I presumed was meant to be significant. “It is so much more exhausting to entertain people of one's own rank than gillies and servants!” was printed below it.

  How dared they! Had they no sympathy for bereavement? They were the victims of their own depraved minds.

  It was amazing how little details seeped out to the Press. I had always known that John Brown liked what he called “a wee dram,” which meant that he was rather partial to Scotch whiskey; and naturally there were occasions when he did not realize how much he had taken. Then he would be in a state which he described as “a wee touch of the bashful,” I rarely saw him when he was thus, for he would always keep away from me then and confess to me next day that he had been “bashful” on the previous night.

  I found this rather endearing and so honest.

  There was another matter that caused a great deal of trouble. Prince Christian, who was staying with us, was apt to sit up late; he would sit smoking and talking until the early hours of the morning. John Brown mentioned to me that this kept him up late and I asked my equerry, Lord Charles Fitzroy, to drop a hint to Prince Christian that the smoking room should be closed at midnight.

  This leaked out. Servants will talk. It caused a great deal of amusement. Royalty must bow to the wishes of Mr. John Brown. Why? Because Mrs. John Brown said it should be so.

  There was one cartoon entitled “A Brown Study,” published in the obnoxious Tomahawk. It depicted John Brown, sprawling close to the throne with his back to it, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  Bertie came to see me one evening. Brown barred his way and said, “Ye canna see the Queen now. She's resting.”

  Bertie hated Brown in any case, and he was furious.

  “The Prince of Wales will see the Queen,” he said.

  “It's your eldest,” called Brown. “I've told him ye're too tired to see him the night.”

  “Thank you, Brown,” I said.

  I could imagine Bertie's fury, but I would not have him rude to Brown.

  The following morning Bertie came to me waving a paper in his hand. I knew at once that it was “A Brown Study.”

  “This is disgraceful, Mama,” he said.

  “I ignore such scurrilous nonsense.”

  “It is an attack on you…on the crown. It should be considered. Mama, Brown must go. He was abominably rude to me. He was rude to Christian. He is quite impossible. It is all becoming a laughing stock.”

  “He is my servant, Bertie. I will choose my own servants.”

  “He is no ordinary servant.”

  “You are right,” I retorted. “Indeed he is not. He understands me as some of my family fail to, or perhaps do not take the trouble to.”

  “We are all concerned.”

  “I think, Bertie, that the family is more concerned about you than about me. I am sure Alexandra is quite sad about the manner in which you carry women.”

  “Oh Mama!”

  “You were always a trial to us, Bertie. Your beloved Papa had many an anxious hour worrying about you. Why, at the end of his life he went to Cambridge in that dreadful weather…I often think of what might have happened if he had not gone.”

  It was the sure way to subdue Bertie. He lifted his shoulders and after a while took his leave.

  I was annoyed with him and that wretched Tomahawk. How dared they print such libelous nonsense when all I wanted was the comfort of a good and faithful servant

  ALEXANDRA WAS PREGNANT again. Really, it seemed as though she was going to have one child after another, as I had done. It would have been so much better for her not to have them so close. She was a very good mother—adored by her boys. She was very fond of her family and took their troubles to heart. I shall never forget how almost demented she was at the time of the Schleswig-Holstein affair. Now her sister, Dagmar, had had a disappointment. Her fiancé, Nicholas of Russia—a marriage that would have brought much glory to the Danish family—had died of tuberculosis; but Nicholas had a brother, Alexander, and Dagmar was to have him instead. I shuddered and pictured myself losing Albert and having to take Ernest in his place. It was rather absurd to say that she found she loved Alexander after all, but it was what they always said in such cases.

  Now Dagmar was to go to Russia, and Bertie and Alexandra wanted to go to the wedding.

  As Alexandra was pregnant and her first child had been born prematurely, the doctors said she was unfit to go. She was very upset but I forbade it. Bertie, however, was eager to go. I was very sad for Alexandra. How different Albert would have been! He had hated to be separated from me and would not have wanted the superficial glitter of such occasions. Not so Bertie. I told him that as Alexandra could not go he had a very good excuse for not going either. Bertie was sly. He went to the Prime Minister to ask his advice, and both Derby and Disraeli thought that Bertie should go since the Russians could believe that the absence of both Bertie and Alexandra could be construed as an insult.

  So Bertie went, and I insisted that he call in at Prussia either on his way out or on his return. He was reluctant to do this. Vicky was so censorious, he said. She thought he was her little brother still.

  He went to Paris as well. He was very fond of Paris and had always maintained a friendship with the Emperor with whom he was a great favorite since he had, so disloyally, told him that he wished he were his father. Vicky wrote that there were rumors throughout the Continent about his behavior. He was very popular, there was not a doubt of that, but he was very much given to entertaining and being entertained by people of not the finest character—and particularly women.

  I expected such letters from Vicky, but when I heard from Alice that there was scandal about Bertie I felt it was really grave.

  If only Albert were here! I thought. I tried to imagine what he would have done. It was different now. Bertie was no longer a boy; he was in fact building up his own Court—men like himself, fond of gaiety and reckless living. Of course he was popular, far more than Albert had ever been—even at the time of the Great Exhibition. The government seemed to approve of him too. They called him a good ambassador; and if I raised any objections to his behavior, I was met by oblique references to my own seclusion.

  We were very anxious about Alexandra because she now began to suffer from pains in her limbs that mystified the doctors. She could scarcely walk. Eventually they diagnosed rheumatism. This was very worrying as she was about to have a child.

  When her child was born she was
very ill indeed. Bertie was away and the doctors, fearing she was going to die, sent for her parents. I hurried from Windsor to Marlborough House and when I arrived there, I found Alexandra's mother at her bedside and was told that her father would come as soon as he could.

  I was rather annoyed. My permission had not been asked; but when I saw the tenderness between Queen Louise and her daughter, I softened. I was so fond of Alexandra and she told me it had done her so much good to see her mother and she was feeling better every instant since her arrival.

  I then told Louise how glad I was that she had come, and how dearly I loved my daughter-in-law. And because she knew I was speaking the truth, we liked each other a little better.

  Alexandra had given birth to a little girl—Louise, Victoria, Alexandra; I was so relieved that she had come through that ordeal; but she was still in pain.

  The doctors said she had rheumatic fever and that and the pregnancy had impaired her health considerably. She hobbled about on sticks, poor child, and still suffered a lot of pain. I told Bertie that it was due to the life they led and that Alexandra needed more peace. “Your Papa and I liked nothing better than to be alone, to read to each other and play duets. That was so restful. Papa did not care for dancing—ever—and he would not have been so foolish as to gamble.”

  “It is impossible for everyone to be like Papa,” he said.

  “That is true,” I retorted. “Least of all, it seems, you, Bertie. You are his son. You should be proud of that and try to be like him.”

  Bertie had a way of appearing to listen when I guessed his thoughts were far away.

  In time, Alexandra improved a little, but she walked with a limp. She was so pretty and dressed so charmingly and had such a natural air of elegance that nothing could deter from her attractiveness. Some of the ladies copied her walk. They thought it was very charming.

  They called it the Alexandra Limp.

  THERE WAS FURTHER trouble in Europe.

  Although I was still on very friendly terms with Louis Napoleon, I did wonder what he was secretly planning. Napoleon's family were natural fighters; and he was hinting that owing to the new Prussian supremacy in Europe his frontiers were threatened by the Duchy of Luxembourg, which the Prussians were fortifying right on his border. He was in conference with the King of Holland suggesting that the Duchy should now be part of France—or Belgium might have it if they gave him a strip of territory in exchange for it.