Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (52 page)

I felt horribly depressed. Oh, how hateful it all was! How different from the days when I had driven with Mama in my carriage and the people had shouted their good wishes for me.

Lord John called again.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “the Cabinet have decided that you should leave as soon as possible for Osborne. There are a few days before the march is due to take place. Could you leave tomorrow?”

Albert said we could.

I was angry. To be turned out of my Palace by my subjects! It was inconceivable. I said I had a good mind to stay.

Albert looked at me with a sad shake of his head, reminding me that to lose my temper would be no use whatever.

On the eighth of April, two days before the Chartists' march was due to take place, we left for Osborne.

I
N ANY OTHER
circumstances I should have delighted in Osborne, but how could I when I did not know what was happening in London and when I contemplated the terrible situation in France!

Albert was very gloomy. He said that revolution was an evil weed which, once it had been allowed to take root, grew like wild fire and could appear anywhere…even in the most unexpected places. Europe trembled. Italy was in revolt; in Germany there were uprisings; and there was a great deal of uneasiness everywhere. This worried Albert very much and spoilt our wonderful Osborne for us both.

News came from London that the Chartists' march had come to nothing. Instead of the large numbers expected only a few arrived; and when they were warned by the police that the march was illegal, they immediately disbanded.

The leaders were taken to the House of Commons where they presented the petitions they had prepared, and that was the end of the matter.

We breathed more easily.

Albert said, “The English are not of a revolutionary nature. Of course there will always be those who seek to arouse it. Some of these would come from abroad—or might even be natives. It is well known that the French Revolution owed its success to agitators. Thank God, this terrible thing has been averted.”

But a few days later one of the servants reported that Chartists had been seen on the Island.

The suspense was terrible. We herded the children into the schoolroom and Albert said we must prepare for the defense of the house, though how we could hold out against a gang of rioters I had no idea.

Happily this turned out to be a false alarm. The so-called Chartists were members of a club who had come to the island to enjoy a day's outing.
Such was our state at that time that we were ready to believe our lives were in constant danger.

It was an uneasy summer. There was constant talk of revolution. Uncle Leopold stood firm in Belgium.

“The people must remember what he has done for them,” said Albert. “I know that life has improved for them under his rule.”

“People are so stupid. They follow the mob, and if there is a fiery leader who can inspire them, they forget all that has been done for their good.”

Albert agreed with me.

Through the hot and hazy days the menace hung over us. The children played in the Swiss Cottage. They must have been aware of the tension. Vicky was too bright not to be. But they did their cooking, and Bertie and Affie—Alfred, of course—played with their woodwork tools. They had their lessons, and we tried to make everything seem normal.

Albert said, “The Isle of Wight is very vulnerable…if there was trouble. I wonder if we might go farther afield. I should love to see Scotland again—a beautiful country.”

I thought that was an excellent idea.

Lord John came down to see us and when we mentioned our desire to see Scotland again he thought it would be a good plan for us to go. He told us that the tension had relaxed considerably. People remembered the terrible disaster the French had suffered last century. After all it was not so long ago. They had seen the effects of revolution and wanted none of it here.

He believed the English had too much good sense, and that we were coming through this scare as we had when the great revolution was raging in France.

“The English have not the mood for revolution,” he said. “Europe is shaking, though. I think Russia will be safe. The Emperor has great control over his people; so much so that they would never be able to rise.”

He said he would make inquiries about a house in Scotland we could rent.

“I should like it to be in the Highlands,” said Albert. “I had only a brief glimpse of them, but I found the country magnificent.”

Shortly afterward we heard of a house which could be rented from the Fife Trustees. It was Balmoral House.

Very soon we were preparing to go, and as soon as I saw Balmoral, I loved it… and so did Albert. It was small but very pretty; but it was the
scenery around which was enchanting—it was wild, solitary, and beautifully wooded.

“What a place I could make here!” said Albert; and I could see plans forming in his mind just as they had at Osborne.

I laughed at him; and it seemed that we were happy and at peace for the first time for months.

I had not been in Balmoral for a week before I knew that it was going to be important to us.

T
HAT HAD BEEN A VERY DISTURBING YEAR AND
I
HOPED NEVER
to pass through another like it.

In November, Lord Melbourne died. Although I knew that he had been ailing for some time, and life could not have been very good for him, I was deeply shocked.

I had often thought of him and his lonely life at Brocket—he who had sparkled in social gatherings, delivering that pithy wit, with its cynicism and unconventionality that had seemed so clever to me in those early days. How we had laughed together! How I had rejoiced in his friendship! How unhappy I had been when I feared to lose him! What he had meant to me I should never forget.

Albert had explained to me that he was not a statesman of the stature of Sir Robert Peel, and I had to admit that Albert was right; but Lord Melbourne had been a very special person to me.

Albert could not understand the depth of my grief but it was there nonetheless.

It always saddened me when people died, even those whom I had not known very well; but when it was someone for whom I had cared as I had for Lord Melbourne, it was hard to bear—particularly in that alarming year of unrest.

I was glad when the New Year came.

I was spending more time with the children and finding them interesting now that they were growing up. It was just those frog-like babies who did not appeal to me; but as they began to assume human qualities I found them fascinating. I was pleased with my brood—even Bertie, who stuttered much less now that Mr. Birch had come. Mr. Birch gave us such good reports of him that Albert grew a little suspicious and said that he may have caught Lady Lyttelton's and Miss Hildyard's complaint—which was spoiling the boy.

However, Stockmar had chosen Mr. Birch, and that was in his favor. Although, said Albert, Bertie's attachment to the tutor must be watched.

Albert had been depressed about what was happening in France and Germany, and wanted a little peace for a while. He gave himself up to the pleasures of Osborne. There he spent hours in the Swiss Cottage with the children; he took them for walks and talked to them about the trees and plants.

I enjoyed it so much although there were times when I wished that Albert and I could be alone without the children. I had come to the conclusion that I was meant to be a wife rather than a mother. Much as I loved my children it was my husband who was all-important to me.

I think I was a little jealous of Vicky for she claimed so much of his attention and sometimes he seemed to prefer to be with her rather than with me. Once I taxed him with it and we almost quarreled—until he made me so ashamed. To be jealous of my own daughter!

I said that he was unfair to Bertie and that to talk about others spoiling him was amusing, considering how he spoilt Vicky.

The storm blew over, but a little resentment remained, though it did not spoil those happy days. And happy they were! For a short period I was not pregnant. A joy in itself ! I could give myself up to the pleasures of Osborne—the sun, the sea breezes, the sight of the ships going up and down the Solent, my dear house that Albert had made, going down to the sea and from my bathing-machine experiencing the thrill of slipping into the water.

It was wonderful, and I was foolish to allow all that to be spoilt by petty jealousy of my own daughter on whom I doted as much as Albert did—or almost. I loved my children. It was just that I loved Albert more.

In the autumn we went back to Scotland and took Balmoral again. I think Scotland was even more wonderful than the Isle of Wight. Albert loved it more because it reminded him of the mountains and glens of his home.

He said, “I should like Balmoral to be our very own. The house is small but I could turn it into a royal residence.”

Why not? I thought. He was so good. He should have been an architect; and it would give him and us all so much pleasure.

The dear people of Scotland took us to their hearts as we did them to ours. I was already learning the names of the tenants. There was old Mrs. Grant who was so tidy and clean; and none of them was in the least overawed by royalty, the dear simple folk! There was one woman of ninety—
Kitty Kear—who sat near her open door spinning; as we passed and talked to her, she did not even stop her work but remarked about Vicky, “Yon lassie has grown a wee bit since she were here last.” I learned about their families and characteristics; I dressed my children in kilts to show the people that we really felt ourselves to belong to their country.

I knew that Balmoral was going to be our favorite haven to which we could escape when affairs in London became too trying. There we felt far away…in a different world. It was just what we needed.

But alas, to my dismay and indignation, I was soon pregnant again.

There was terrible news from Ireland, which was suffering acutely from the potato famine. People were dying in the thousands and being buried in communal graves. They had murdered some of the landlords. There was revolt there as in the European countries.

I was deeply shocked when, as we were driving down Constitution Hill, a man came up close to the carriage and fired at me. I should have been killed if the gun had been loaded.

He was an Irishman named William Hamilton who blamed me for the terrible state of affairs in his country.

I was sorry for the man. I understood his anger. It must be terrible to see one's family and friends suffering from starvation when others have plenty. I would have pardoned him—after all, he had only given me a fright. But Lord John pointed out that that sort of thing could not be allowed to go on. It was a mistake to show mercy when it could be counted as weakness.

William Hamilton was transported for seven years.

That May my child was born. A boy this time—Arthur William Patrick Albert. There were seven of them now—all strong and healthy. Even the people were finding my fertility a little monotonous and there were unpleasant murmurings about the cost of the royal family to the taxpayer.

I agreed with them that I had had enough. I was now thirty-one years old. Quite a mature age and a time when I thought I should have earned a respite from this onerous task. I had done my duty. Let it rest there.

Albert was full of ideas for an exhibition he was planning. It was to show the industrial products of the world. Under his direction a Royal Commission was set up. He was working very hard on the project and he thought Hyde Park would be the very place where it should be set up. It was to be like a big glass palace.

Of course he had to fight a great deal of opposition. There were those
who could not agree to Hyde Park as the setting—when it was obviously the very best place. Albert was in despair.

“They are against me,” he said. “They cannot forget that I am a German. I hear that on every side.”

“Only from the stupid,” I said. “There are so many people who admire you and more and more are learning to do so.”

I shall never forget that July day when the tragic news was brought to me.

Sir Robert—whom I had begun by hating—was now a very dear friend and I could not believe this had happened to him. He was riding his horse up Constitution Hill when it became restive and threw him. He was carried to his home in Whitehall Gardens, and four days later he was dead.

It was a great blow to the country. We had lost one of our finest statesmen.

I was so distressed to think of poor Julia Peel. She had been such a good wife to him and they were such an exceptionally devoted couple that it had been a joy to see them together. She had made herself his companion and helpmeet throughout all his struggles and triumphs. They had five sons and two daughters—a devoted family, now plunged into mourning.

First my dear Lord Melbourne and now Sir Robert Peel. Life was very sad.

There had been so many deaths recently. Poor Aunt Sophia had gone. Aunt Gloucester was very feebleminded and behaved oddly. It could not be long before she joined her sister. Uncle Cambridge was ill. Of course they were all getting old. Even I was thirty-one.

Then came terrible news from Uncle Leopold. Aunt Louise was very ill. The fate of her parents had upset her so much and she was so weakened that when illness came to her she was unable to fight it off. Uncle Leopold was very melancholy.

I took some of the children to visit Uncle Cambridge. He liked to see them and they cheered him considerably. Vicky was not with us; she was, as so often, with her father. Bertie seemed much brighter without her; and Alfred and Alice, who were with us on this occasion, were his devoted slaves.

We could not stay long at Kensington Palace because poor Uncle Cambridge was so very ill, and we were soon driving back to
Buckingham Palace. The crowd pressed close to the carriage. The people were always interested to see the children. I had taught them to wave and Bertie did it with a special exuberance that always delighted the crowd.

Suddenly a man ran up to the carriage and lifting his cane he brought it down on my head. I was just aware of the children's bewildered faces as I fainted.

I was bruised and shaken and the doctors said that my bonnet had probably saved my life—or at least saved me from dreadful injuries.

These attempts on my life were becoming common occurrences. I supposed it was something someone in my position should expect.

The doctors said I must rest, but I was due to go to the opera that evening, and as I felt well enough, I said I would go in spite of my bruises.

The reception I was given was tremendous. I think that incident did a great deal to bring out the loyalty of the people. It seemed incredible that a short time ago we were in fear of the Chartists who were planning to march on Buckingham Palace.

It was wonderful to have them applauding me again.

“Long live the Queen!” What glorious words! The incident was worthwhile to provoke such emotion. I must have looked grotesque. The skin round one eye was blue and yellow; but if my head was throbbing, I did not care. I just wanted to be there listening to their demonstrations of affection.

I was less pleased to discover the identity of the man who had attacked me. He was Robert Pate, whose father had been High Sheriff of Cambridge, so he came of a good family. It seemed incomprehensible that he could have behaved so. He was not insane, but he was sentenced to seven years transportation.

My bruises remained for several weeks and I felt very resentful that I should be exposed to insults and dangers of that kind, unable to go for a quiet drive without being in fear of my life.

It seemed extremely brutal to me, for a man to strike any woman, and far worse than attempting to shoot; and the fact that there seemed no real motive for this man's crime worried me considerably, particularly as he was of a good family.

There were two more deaths that year. Uncle Adolphus of Cambridge whom we had expected to die for he was very ill; but what was most tragic was that of Aunt Louise.

Poor Uncle Leopold. My grief for him was great. I thought of how he
had lost his dear Charlotte all those years ago and found happiness with Louise. She had suffered so much in her fears for her family which must surely have hastened her end.

Oh, the wickedness of these violent people who seemed to find such pleasure in trying to wreck our lives.

I
T SEEMED THAT
there must always be someone in the government who gave us trouble; and it was usually a person in a high place. The thorn in our flesh at this time was Lord Palmerston. Albert disliked him intensely. He had a rather amusing nickname for him. When we were alone Albert always called him
Pilgerstein
, which came about by translating his name into German.
Pilger
palmer and
stein
stone.

I suppose there could not have been two men less alike than Albert and Lord Palmerston and this was probably responsible for Albert's antipathy. What Palmerston thought of Albert I was not entirely sure. I think he was one of those who regarded my husband as smug. He treated him with a modicum of respect but when we were together he would address himself to me as though to remind Albert that he was only the consort.

There was nothing more liable to wound Albert, for he did work very hard and was cognizant of affairs—in fact more so than I was—and to be treated as though he were of no importance was very galling.

Palmerston's reputation was shady. He was known as a libertine and as a bachelor had had countless mistresses until he finally settled down at the age of fifty-five with the dowager Lady Cowper who was three years younger than he was.

Lady Cowper had been Emily Lamb, Lord Melbourne's sister, and she had married Earl Cowper when she was eighteen years old. She was a brilliant woman—as one would expect Lord Melbourne's sister to be—and the young and ambitious Palmerston was welcomed at the Cowpers' London residence as well as at Panshanger, their country seat. It was said that Emily and Palmerston had long been lovers and on the death of Earl Cowper they were married.

The marriage had turned out to be a great success. They were devoted to each other and she did everything possible to further his career. She was already a celebrated hostess and being deeply involved in politics she acted as his private secretary and adviser.