Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Jean Plaidy

“I only hope,” said Lord Beaconsfield, “that I live long enough to see Your Majesty where you belong.”

  “Please do not talk of your not being here. I have suffered so much lately. I could not bear any more.”

  “Gladstone has a great following,” he said warningly. He smiled at me apologetically. “Facts have to be faced, Ma'am.”

  I was alarmed.

  He nodded. “Support is dropping away. It may be that before long we shall be obliged to go to the country and if we do…”

  “Oh no. I could not bear that. Not that man again! I thought he had retired once. Why does he have to come back?”

  “By public request, Ma'am. The people love their William.”

  “Do they know he prowls the streets at night?”

  “I think he has given that up. And it was said to be most virtuously done.”

  “If one believes it!”

  “Of Mr. Gladstone! Surely one must.”

  “If I have to accept him …I…I shall abdicate!”

  “Dear Madam!”

  He left me very uneasy for I knew that unless he was almost sure that there would be a change of government, he would not have suggested it to me at this time, for he would know how it disturbed me.

  Of course he was right to prepare me and although I was deeply distressed when Parliament was dissolved and an election was called, it was not such a shock as it would have been if I had not been prepared.

  The following day I went to Germany. I had to see Alice's stricken family who had now recovered from their illness and had to face their irreplaceable loss.

  Two of the girls were going to be confirmed and I wanted to see the ceremony.

  It was a very sad household. Alice had been greatly loved.

  I visited Vicky in time to celebrate the betrothal of Wilhelm to Princess Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg, who was the daughter of that Duke Frederick who had laid claims to Schleswig-Holstein. Her mother was Feodore's daughter, so I had a special interest in the match; and I thought it excellent as Prussia had annexed Schleswig-Holstein. In a way it made reparations for their act.

  So that was something of which I approved—though I had to say that Wilhelm's manners had not improved and I thought him quite an odious young man.

  My great interest, of course, was in what was going on at home. I was in constant touch with Lord Beaconsfield and, alas, the news was gloomy.

  Finally I had the result of the election. My Conservative Government had been defeated and the Liberals had a majority of one hundred and sixty.

  It was indeed a tragedy.

  I RETURNED HOME distraught. Not Mr. Gladstone! I could not endure it, and it would be particularly hard to bear after the pleasant companionship I had enjoyed with dear Lord Beaconsfield.

  Sir Henry Ponsonby, my secretary, who was always such a help, tried hard to comfort me.

  “I would sooner abdicate,” I told him, “than have anything to do with that half-mad firebrand who will ruin everything and try to dictate to me.”

  Sir Henry soothed me. He said perhaps he would not be so bad as that. There were others. Mr. Gladstone was getting old. Perhaps he would be a little mellowed.

  Mellowed! I could see no sign of that in his outbursts against Lord Beaconsfield, and his weak-kneed policy of peace at any price.

  “Your Majesty could send for Lord Granville.”

  “I don't want him.”

  “Lord Hartington?”

  “Hartington! Isn't he the one they call Harty Tarty.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “A fine Prime Minister. Harty Tarty indeed! And wasn't he involved in that scandal with the Duchess of Manchester?”

  “They were intimate friends, Your Majesty.”

  “Until, I hear, he conceived a passion for some creature whom they called Skittles.”

  “The lady was very much admired in several quarters.”

  Sir Henry had the same sort of wit as Lord Melbourne had had. He liked to make sly little remarks. I believed Bertie had been involved with that shameless creature.

  And these were the sort of men I was expected to have as my Prime Minister to take the place of Lord Beaconsfield!

  They both declined to take on the premiership and most tactfully reminded me that there was one man whom the people wanted.

  I had to wrestle with myself. Of course my threat to abdicate had not been serious. How could it be? I knew what was my duty. I tried to think what Albert would have done.

  I knew, of course. There was only one thing I could do. I sent for Mr. Gladstone.

  He came humbly enough, trying, I knew, to please me. He kissed my hand, but I could not enforce any warmth into my manner.

  So I had lost my dear friend and in his place was William Gladstone.

  GLADSTONE'S MINISTRY DIRECTED its efforts to bringing an end to those wars that had been raging in Afghanistan and South Africa at the time of the election. Our troops were defeated at Maiwand and I was afraid that the new government would meekly accept the disaster and not try to regain our prestige as Lord Beaconsfield would have undoubtedly done. I was delighted therefore when Sir Frederick Roberts brought Afghanistan to submission by marching on Kandahar and installing a new emir who professed friendship for us.

  When the Boer War broke out and General Colley died in the defeat of Majuba Hill, I was afraid that the government would take no action. I recommended Sir Frederick Roberts for the chief command of the Transvaal. But what was the use? The government pursued its “peace at any price” policy and in the negotiations gave way to the enemy.

  I was deeply angry. If only Lord Beaconsfield had been at the head of affairs how different everything would be. When the soldiers came back I visited them and gave new colors to the Berkshire Regiment who had lost theirs at Maiwand. I wanted my soldiers to know how much I appreciated them and that I understood the sacrifices they made for their country.

  I was horrified to learn that Sir Charles Dilke had been given the post of Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs in the government. I would never forget how he had fulminated against me and that he was in favor of abolishing the Monarchy. How could such a man be permitted to take part in the government?

  If that were not bad enough I discovered that he had become a member of Bertie's circle. I thought that not only disloyal but foolish. When I remonstrated with Bertie he said that he mixed with all sorts of people and that it was the best way of discovering what was being said and thought. I supposed there was something in that but I should certainly not receive Dilke.

  There was one sad fact that obsessed me at the time. Lord Beaconsfield became ill. He had been growing feebler since he took his place in the House of Lords and, indeed, I think he only accepted the peerage because he found the House of Commons demanded too much of him.

  When I heard that he had taken to his bed at Hughenden, I wrote to him commanding him to send me word of his progress. He wrote back so charmingly that my letters did him so much good and that he immediately felt better on reading them. He said it was very cold at Hughenden and he found it difficult to keep his old bones warm.

  In March he managed to come up to his place in Curzon Street. I was delighted because I thought that was a good sign.

  I sent him primroses from Osborne and he wrote back to tell me that they cheered him.

  It was April. He had not been out for three weeks and when I did not hear from him it occurred to me that he was too ill to write.

  I would go to see this dear old friend. I would command him to get well. I could not lose any more of those I loved. But before I could go I heard that he had died.

  His last words were, “I am not afraid to die, but I would rather live.” Dear Lord Beaconsfield!

  He had wanted to be buried in Hughenden church beside Mary Anne. I could not bear to be present—my grief was too intense—so I sent Bertie and Leopold to represent me. They took the primroses I wanted to be laid on the coffin. I wrote a card that was attached to t
hem, “His favorite flower.”

  I knew, of course, that they were so because I had sent them to him.

  I had lost a beloved friend whose one thought was the honor and glory of his country and unswerving devotion to the crown. His death was a national calamity and my sorrow was great and lasting.

  Although it was his wish that he should be buried at Hughenden, I ordered that a monument should be set up to him in Westminster Abbey.

  Four days after the funeral, Beatrice and I went to Hughenden and I laid a wreath of white camellias on his coffin, which lay in the open vault in the churchyard. I wanted everyone to know how much I had loved and honored this man; and the following year I had a tablet set up in the church on which were the words:

  To the dear and honored memory of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of

  Beaconsfield, this memorial is placed by his grateful and affectionate

  Sovereign Victoria R.I.

  “Kings love him that speakest right.” Proverbs XVI 13.

  February 27th 1882.

  It seemed to me that death was in the air—a most depressing thought. I had recently heard of the assassination of Tsar Alexander, the father of Alfred's wife, and soon after that President Garfield of the United States met a similar end.

  But before that there was trouble with Egypt when the Khedive's war minister Arabi Pasha brought about a successful coup and overthrew the Khedive. Egyptian finance was in chaos; France was involved with us but refused to reinstate the Khedive so we had to go ahead single-handed.

  I was delighted when we had a decisive victory. I was at Balmoral at the time and ordered that a bonfire should be lighted at the top of Craig Gowan.

  But of course I remembered the feeling of my “peace at any price” government and once again I mourned Lord Beaconsfield and wished with all my heart that he was beside me so that we could enforce the strong policies in which we had both so fervently believed.

  I WAS ASTONISHED when Leopold came to me and told me that he planned to marry. I had thought he never would. We had always been so watchful of him ever since we discovered he was cursed with that dreadful disease, hemophilia.

  He was so careless of himself, which I supposed was natural. He could not be expected to lead a completely sheltered life; after all he was a normal healthy young man in every other respect.

  I had heard rumors of his attraction to a certain young woman who was making a stir in London. This was largely due to Bertie. But it was Leopold, so it was rumored, who had seen her first.

  She was a certain Mrs. Langtry, the daughter of the Dean of Jersey, who had married a Mr. Langtry. They would not have moved in very exalted circles but it seemed the woman was exceptionally beautiful, had been noticed by a nobleman, and was asked to his house.

  There, Leopold had seen her and apparently fallen in love with her. Alas for Leopold, Bertie saw her picture, wanted to meet her, and then decided she was for him.

  Such was Leopold's nature, and Bertie's too, that this did not result in any ill feeling between them. Bertie pursued Mrs. Langtry, was seen everywhere with her, and Leopold shrugged his shoulders and decided to take a trip on the Continent.

  There he met Princess Helen Frederica Augusta, daughter of the Prince of Waldeck Pyrmont, and decided he wished to marry her.

  When I heard I was horrified—not by the thought of whom he had chosen, but because he was contemplating marriage. I feared he was not strong enough. I had lost my dear Alice and that had made my children who were left to me doubly precious; and because of Leopold's weakness I was afraid.

  I discussed the matter with Bertie who thought that Leopold must marry if he wished to.

  “Do you understand the nature of this terrible thing from which he is suffering?” I demanded.

  “I know that if he bleeds he is in danger. But you have to let him live, Mama. He is just as well married as single.”

  Of course he was right. I was being fatalistic. Whatever was coming I must be prepared for it.

  So Leopold was betrothed and created Duke of Albany.

  I WAS ON my way to Windsor Castle and had left the train and taken my place in the carriage, which was waiting for me at the station. The horses were just about to move forward when I heard a loud report, then a scuffle, and Brown, white-faced and anxious, was at the window.

  “A man has just fired at your carriage,” he said.

  I felt quite ill. This was the seventh shock of this nature that I had had in my life. I should be used to it, but one never is.

  “I'm taking ye on to the castle the noo,” said Brown. “I'll soon have ye there.”

  Later I learned exactly what had happened. Two boys from Eton School had been in the little group of people near the carriage. They had seen a man lift his hand with the pistol in it, directed straight at the carriage. One of them had knocked it out of the man's hand with his umbrella while the other had hit the assailant with his. Then they had seized him and clung to him until he was arrested.

  This was a really serious attempt for the pistol had been loaded.

  Mr. Gladstone came down to Windsor, all concern. I must say he did seem very sincere—and indeed, it was hard to imagine Mr. Gladstone ever anything else; but his manner irritated me even when he showed he was upset by the incident.

  “The man is mad,” he said. “All those who have made an attempt on Your Majesty's life have been mad. In other countries rulers are attacked for political reasons. It is gratifying that in this country all assassins are madmen.”

  “The effect is the same on the victim, Mr. Gladstone,” I said coolly.

  “Yes, Ma'am, that is so, but the motive is different; and madmen have not the same power to reason.”

  Now I was going to get a lecture on the motives of madmen and the difference in assassins in England and other countries.

  I cut him short.

  “I shall be relieved to hear more of this matter,” I said.

  He told me then about the bravery of the two boys from Eton who had without doubt averted a tragedy.

  “I should like to let them know how much I appreciate their actions.”

  That, he said, was an excellent idea.

  It was arranged that I should receive the whole school—nine hundred boys—and very moving it was to see them assembled in the quadrangle. I spoke to them, commending the two of their number who had so gallantly come to my rescue. Then the two heroes themselves came forward and received my special thanks.

  My would-be assailant turned out to be a certain Roderick McLean who was brought to trial and found not guilty but insane.

  I was incensed by the verdict. Not guilty when he had aimed a loaded pistol at me, which might have killed me but for the prompt action of two schoolboys with their umbrellas! It seemed to me that people who tried to kill my subjects were guilty of murder, but if they tried to kill me, they were found to be insane.

  “There is no doubt of the man's insanity,” said Mr. Gladstone. “In this country it is always the insane who attempt to assassinate the sovereigns.”

  The man was detained “during Her Majesty's pleasure.”

  It would be my pleasure that he remained as long as I had any say in the matter.

  In his ponderous way Mr. Gladstone did see my point and said that he would take up the matter of such cases and see if he could bring about a change in the law.

  My popularity soared after the attempt. That was always gratifying; and when one had come unscathed out of these incidents they seemed almost worthwhile for the pleasure of enjoying the people's acclaim.

  ABOUT A MONTH after the Roderick McLean affair, Leopold was married. There had been the usual distasteful wrangle in Parliament about his allowance. But at length it was agreed that it should be raised to £25,000 a year. There was the expected outcry in the Press about the money the royal family was receiving from the country, the habitual murmuring about my seclusion, “What does she do with it and is she worth it to us?” was renewed, and forty-two members voted against
the allowance being raised. However the majority that passed it was substantial enough.

  I attended the ceremony in my black gown and over it I did wear my white wedding lace and veil. I prayed fervently that Leopold would not tax his strength. I greatly feared for him. The blood losses he had suffered all his life had weakened him; and he must realize that such a disease set him apart from normally healthy men. Helen was a very capable young woman, not afraid of stating her own mind—even to me. I had felt a little taken aback at first but soon began to admire her spirit. I was beginning to think she was just the wife for Leopold.

  I was buying Claremont for them as a wedding present. It was a house of which I was particularly fond. Uncle Leopold had left it to me for the duration of my life, but I had thought I should like to own it so that I could give it to the newly married couple.

  I soon began to worry less about Leopold for marriage seemed to suit him, and soon after the wedding Helen was pregnant. Her child was due to be born ten months after her wedding—which was really very prompt.

  I had so many grandchildren that I had to concentrate to count them. But Leopold's would be rather special because I had never thought he would have children.

  I was at Windsor. I had been down to Frogmore to be with Albert and when I came back I was very sad as I always was after these visits. I must have been deep in thought for as I was coming downstairs I slipped and fell.

  There was consternation. Brown came rushing out, sweeping everyone aside. He picked me up looking very angry with me and said, “What have ye done now, woman?” which made me smile in spite of the pain in my leg.

  He carried me to my room. Everyone fussed around, but I said I should be all right in a day or two.

  But the next morning I could not put my foot to the ground without pain. The upset had started my rheumatic pains and they came on more virulently than ever.

  The doctors came and said I must rest.

  It was very tiresome. I hated to be inactive. But I certainly was bruised and my leg was painfully swollen.

  Brown used to carry me from my bed to the sofa and then, because he thought I should get some fresh air, took what he called the wee pony chair and he would drive me around the park.