Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (64 page)

I was very disappointed in Ernest. He had been upset when Albert had died but I feared his feelings did not go very deep. When I thought that I might have married him, I thanked Fate for my lucky escape. But, of course, it had been my choice and I should never have chosen him.

I suspected him of all sorts of immorality. Who would not after the disgraceful affair that had so upset Albert. I guessed he was cured of that… physically… but nothing would stop his being the man he was. He was ambitious and very grasping.

He had no children and it had been Albert's wish that on Ernest's death Alfred should have the dukedom. It would go, of course, to Bertie, but Bertie would eventually be King of England and it was therefore suitable that the Dukedom of Saxe-Coburg should go to his brother.

Now a crisis had arisen in Greece. The popular assembly of that country had driven Otho, their King, from the throne and had offered the crown to Alfred.

At first I thought this was a very good proposition but I was finally convinced by Palmerston and Lord John that it was not practical. I was reminded that it had been Albert's wish that Alfred should have the Dukedom of Saxe-Coburg on Ernest's death.

When the offer was declined for Alfred, it was given to Ernest. I had thought this was a good idea for Ernest could go to Greece and Alfred could take over Saxe-Coburg without delay. But Ernest wanted the Greek crown
and
to retain his hold on Saxe-Coburg. He thought Alfred might go there as a kind of caretaker under his jurisdiction.

“That would not do,” said Palmerston. “It would mean that Ernest would still control the Duchy and Alfred might well be held responsible for Ernest's misrule and the mountain of debts he has managed to pile up.”

There was a great deal of discussion between us on the matter and it spoilt my visit to Coburg, which I had intended should be dedicated to the memory of Albert.

I was glad to leave.

I
DECIDED THAT
Alexandra must come to Osborne. I must know more of this girl who might well become Bertie's wife. If she were, she would be Queen of England, and that meant she must be entirely suitable.

I already liked her. She had shown sensitivity when I had met her at Laeken, so the invitation was sent and Alexandra arrived at the Isle of Wight with her father. Christian was to stay with the Cambridges and leave Alexandra with me.

It was a cold and miserable day when she arrived. How I hated November! Albert had been very ill in November… and in December he had gone. And on the eve of Christmas! I should never celebrate that festivity again with any pleasure. Always there would be these memories.

I was pleased to see Alexandra. She looked very fresh and pretty. Christian was a little apprehensive and very eager for his daughter to make a good impression. What an advancement for the daughter of such a simple family!

But in spite of her somewhat homely upbringing Alexandra was by no means
gauche
. Her grace and beauty would always carry her through. They were very much in awe of me, I think. They all seemed so much taller than I, and I suppose because of my low stature I made up for it in regal dignity. But then I had been the Queen now for many years and that sort of thing grows on one.

I was glad when Christian left. His daughter seemed more at ease then. She was perfectly natural, and I had the impression that she was not trying to please because she was eager to make a brilliant marriage, but because she was generally good-hearted and understood my grief.

Baby thought her beautiful and in her frank way announced it to us all; Lenchen adored her; Louise, perhaps, was less impressed but she could find no fault with her. Alfred thought she was wonderful. In fact I was afraid he was going to complicate matters by falling in love with her himself. Alfred was very susceptible. He had so adored Bertie when they were boys and he imitated him slavishly in everything he did; and it seemed he had caught Bertie's interest in the opposite sex.

There was no doubt about it that Alexandra was an outstanding success. She asked me questions about Osborne and I described in detail how such a little house had been acquired and all that Albert had done to transform it. She was very impressed. She thought it was wonderful.

She understood my desolation; she gave me a sympathy that was heartfelt, I knew. She encouraged me to talk about Albert—not that I needed encouragement—but I felt that was a great help, for it was a comfort to talk of him to someone who could only know of his goodness by hearsay.

We went to Windsor, which greatly impressed her. I told her how Albert had loved the place, how he had ridden in the forest and knew the names of all the trees and flowers. “But I think Balmoral was his favorite place,” I told her. “One day you will see that, dear child. I am sure you will love it as I do…as Albert did. The Scots are such good
honest
people. Albert built Balmoral. It is really magnificent, an example of his extraordinary talents.”

At the end of the month, Prince Christian left the Cambridges and came to take Alexandra home.

By that time we were the best of friends and I had no doubt that she was the right wife for Bertie.

T
HERE WAS NO
reason why the wedding should be delayed. I suggested January. There was opposition from Alexandra's mother. Her daughter could not possibly travel at that time of year. I had to concede that there was something in that.

Finally March was fixed. I was glad to have something to think of, but
it brought the memory of Albert back all the more vividly because I kept thinking of how he would have arranged everything.

I decided that I would give Alexandra her wedding dress and that it should be trimmed with Honiton lace as mine had been. It was rather unfortunate that on her way to England she should stay for a few days at the Laeken Palace and when she was there Uncle Leopold—who was delighted with the match—gave her a wedding dress that was trimmed with Brussels lace.

Dear Uncle Leopold! He was wonderful, of course, but he
did
interfere. I could not have the wedding dress of the Princess of Wales trimmed with
foreign
lace. It must be Honiton.

I wrote to Uncle Leopold and explained. I knew he was very disappointed, but I had long ago made him realize that as much as I loved him and no matter how poignant were memories of the past when he had meant so much to me, I could not allow him to interfere in the affairs of my country—and the marriage of the Prince of Wales was certainly that.

So Brussels lace it certainly was not. Alexandra was going to the altar in Honiton.

I sent my yacht, the
Victoria and Albert
, to meet Alexandra's party at Antwerp and it brought her to Gravesend where Bertie met her; from there they would drive to London and take the train to Windsor.

I was waiting with the girls to greet them on their arrival at the castle. How sweet the bride-to-be looked in her lavender cloak and gown. The dear girl had chosen lavender as a kind of half-mourning, I guessed. She could hardly have come in black, but she had made me see that Albert was in her thoughts.

What a sad contrast she made to me in my widow's black and what Baby persisted in calling “my sad cap.”

I was so overcome with memories that I could not join them for dinner. I sat in my room thinking of the day Albert had come and how I had known at once that he was the one I should love forever.

It was a great joy to see Vicky. She had brought four-year-old Wilhelm with her. It was a wonderful reunion and I looked forward to some intimate talks with her when we could remember Albert and mingle our tears.

On the day I reached the chapel, which was decorated in purple velvet, by a specially constructed path that had been covered so that I should not be seen for I did not wish to be stared at. I took my place in a box from
which I could look down on the proceedings. I was in deep black with the ribbon of the Garter across my breast. I saw eyes turn to look at me, but my heart was too full for me to acknowledge these glances. My thoughts were back on that other day when Albert and I had been married.

I thought the girls looked lovely in their white dresses. Mary of Cambridge led them, looking larger than ever, but quite splendid in lilac trimmed with lace—Honiton, of course. All the lace, I noted with satisfaction, was Honiton.

There was Beatrice, wide-eyed and looking around her with enthusiasm. She looked up and seeing me, waved. I smiled, in spite of everything, wondering what she was thinking and what odd remark she would come out with. She would be no respecter of places any more than she was of persons.

Little Wilhelm was there, standing between Arthur and Leopold. He looked very sweet—though somewhat mutinous, as though he were a little weary of the proceedings. How cleverly they disguised his arm with those special sleeves! Dear children! I wondered how much of this ceremony they would remember in the years to come.

Alexandra was beautiful and Bertie looked quite handsome too. What a pity he did not resemble his father more and that Arthur was the only one who bore a likeness. It was sad. I should have liked to see those divine features in some of them.

Of course we could not expect children to behave well. Such ceremonies must seem interminable to them. I saw Lenchen and Louis wipe their eyes and Baby watching them began to sob loudly.

Lenchen's hand on her shoulder tightened and Baby said in an audible voice, “If
you
cry, why can't I? This is a wedding this is, where people have to cry.”

Dear Baby! How Albert would have smiled. I think he might have spoilt Baby as he had Vicky. He may have looked to Baby to take Vicky's place. I shall never be able to forget how heartbroken he was when Vicky went away.

There was more trouble from the children. Wilhelm was crawling on the floor. He had pulled the cairngorm out of his dirk, which was part of his costume and thrown it across the chapel floor. It happened during a silence and caused quite a noise.

Arthur bent down and whispered something to him and Wilhelm then bit Arthur's leg. Leopold tried to remonstrate and Wilhelm turned his attention to
his
leg.

Oh dear, I thought, I hope Leopold does not bleed.

Between them they managed to subdue Wilhelm and the service went on.

Everyone came back to the Castle for the wedding breakfast. I felt incapable of joining them. It had been a very emotional experience. There had been too many memories of that happy day when my own wedding had been celebrated.

Lenchen came to me afterward. They told me that Wilhelm had thrown her muff out of the carriage and that Baby had said in a very loud voice, when they were driving through Windsor and she had seen the shops, “I did not know before that they had stays in shops.”

We smiled. Baby could always amuse. She did produce some very funny comments.

After the wedding breakfast the bride and groom left for Osborne where they should spend their honeymoon.

I sighed with relief. Bertie was married.

L
ORD
P
ALMERSTON CAME DOWN TO
W
INDSOR TO SEE ME. I
sensed a certain reproach in his manner. He was thinking that the period of mourning should be coming to an end. He was really rather insensitive. As if my mourning would ever end!

He told me that he was delighted with the popularity of the Princess of Wales. She and the Prince were cheered everywhere they went; and the people were pleased with the marriage.

“Princess Alexandra is a dear girl,” I said.

“She and the Prince make an excellent combination, Ma'am,” replied Palmerston. “It is a good thing that the Prince has no aversion to appearing in public.”

He gave me a sly look. I thought: I have never liked you, Lord Palmerston, but I know Albert thought you were a good politician and of course you are; but you are quite unlike Lord Melbourne. Oh, how I wished he were with me now—not the old man he had become but the Lord M I had known when I first came to the throne.

“The people like to see their Sovereign from time to time.”

“Lord Palmerston,” I retorted, “I have suffered the greatest blow that life could have dealt me.”

“The world knows it, Ma'am.”

Again that irony as though they knew, not because of Albert's saintly reputation, but because I forced the knowledge on them.

My manner turned especially cold and regal.

“I hope, Lord Palmerston that you have not brought bad news. Trouble never seems to be very far away.”

“It is life, Ma'am. But we have had this excellent wedding and we have the popularity of the young royal couple. That is something to rejoice in…particularly as Your Majesty has become such a recluse. The
Prince is doing an excellent job. Let us be grateful for that. There is this matter of the throne of Greece.”

“Oh, is Duke Ernest being difficult again?”

“He is withdrawing from the contest. The next contender is a brother of the Princess of Wales.”

“Indeed!”

“It seems to me a good solution, Ma'am. Duke Ernest will remain in Saxe-Coburg and in due course it will be that duchy for Prince Alfred.”

“The eldest son of the Danish family will be the king of that country in due course.”

“Exactly, Ma'am. That is why it will not be the
eldest
son. It will be the next.”

“Is he not very young?”

“Royalty frequently has to shoulder burdens of state at an early age, as Your Majesty well knows.”

I sighed fleetingly thinking of that morning at Kensington Palace when I had awakened to find myself Queen.

“It seems that there is a universal agreement on this matter—which is a boon to us all,” said Lord Palmerston. “But alas I see trouble ahead in that affair of Schleswig-Holstein. Bismarck is intent on one thing: aggrandizement of Prussia.”

“I do not like what I hear of that man. The Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia find him somewhat distasteful.”

“Alas, Ma'am, there are times when sovereigns are obliged to endure statesmen whom they do not like.”

He gave me that half-mocking look. He knew very well how much I had disliked him until Albert had discovered how good he could be dealing with the Crimean War and the Mutiny. He would have heard that I had abhorred Sir Robert Peel in the beginning, even though in time he had become my very good friend.

“Let us hope that does not grow into real trouble,” I said coolly. “We can hope, Ma'am, but at the same time we must be prepared.”

I knew him well. He had come down for two main reasons: chiefly to warn me that I should show myself to the people who were getting a little irritated by my seclusion, and also to prepare me for trouble over those wretched Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. Conflict between European states was always distressing, because I was related to so many heads
of states and would find myself in the middle of warring relations, each trying to urge me to take their side. I did not relish that.

He left me with the wish that he would see me soon in London, to which I gave no definite reply, for I felt I could not face the people yet.

He said nothing about one other matter that was worrying me. Alfred, it seemed, was going the same way as Bertie. There was a scandal about his relations with a young woman whom he had met when stationed at Malta.

I wished to know more of this, but I found it very hard to discover the facts. Bertie, of course, considered it a natural occurrence—commonplace, in fact. All young men had these affairs. They passed. They were not of any real consequence. I mentioned the matter later to Lord Palmerston who shrugged it aside with equal nonchalance.

“There will always be these rumors about royalty, Ma'am. Do not concern yourself with them. The people are indulgent. In fact, they like their princes to be human.”

How blasé they were, these men! How different from that incomparable being!

I
T WAS AUTUMN
—and Albert had always said that was the best time for Balmoral. At first I wondered whether I could endure to be there, but I liked to do exactly what we had done in the past. It seemed that Albert's spirit was close to me in that dear country.

Alice and her husband were with us. More than anyone Alice understood my grief. She had always been so gentle—I think the best loved of all my daughters. She was not clever, like Vicky, but Vicky had often irritated me by the way in which she monopolized Albert. Alice had always been
my
girl. I was sorry in a way that she had married and wished, selfishly, that I could have kept her with me; but I often had to remind myself of my poor mad grandfather who had ruined the lives of his daughters because he loved them so much that he could not bear to part with them—and most of them had lived frustrated lives. I would never be like that. However it was a comfort to have Alice with me.

They had decided, all of them, to come to Scotland for a holiday.

I had talked with Vicky and Fritz who were uneasy about the rise of Bismarck. King William, under the spell of Bismarck, had disagreed with his parliament and offered to abdicate. If he had done so Vicky and Fritz
would have been Queen and King; but after a while the King decided against that, kept the throne and made Bismarck his chief minister. Vicky and Fritz were so openly opposed to Bismarck, whom the people supported, that they became very unpopular throughout Prussia. Bismarck's slogan was “Blood and Iron,” which meant that his aim was to see Prussia the dominant power in Europe.

I had known for some time that this was going on and asked myself what Albert would have done. Prussia was pitting itself against Austria who was the leader of the German states. What Bismarck really wanted was a unification of all the German states, presumably led by Prussia— which meant Bismarck.

It was pleasant to think that Vicky could have a brief respite here in Scotland, but what a tragedy that Albert was not here to solve Prussia's problems.

We had left Vicky and Fritz with their children at Abergeldie. They would join us later at Balmoral; and one morning Alice came to me and said, “Let us go to Clova. You know how you love it, Mama.”

I smiled at her sadly. “So many memories, my love.”

“I know. But they are everywhere. Do come. It will do you so much good.”

“Very well. If you wish it.”

“Just Lenchen, you, and I, Mama.”

I nodded. “Tell Brown to make some of that broth of his. Your father used to say that he had rarely tasted anything as good as Brown's broth in the Highlands.”

It was rather a hazy morning when we set out. Old Smith was driving the carriage. He was getting rather old and had been in our service for thirty years. Brown said he was getting unfit to drive the carriage, but Albert had said that he was a good man and I like to keep about me the old servants of whom Albert had approved.

By about half-past twelve we had reached Altnagiuthasach and Brown set out the picnic in his usual efficient way, warming the broth and cooking the potatoes. He chided me in his bluff way for not eating enough. “You should eat something, woman. Ye've no more appetite than a wee birdie.” I took some more broth like an obedient child, and I could not help smiling because of the way he spoke to me. He did not think of me as the Queen. Alice and Lenchen were a little shocked—although after all this time they should have been used to it. I could not explain that it
comforted me to be bullied a little. Moreover it showed Brown's concern for me, which was genuine—far more so than all the gracefully worded sympathy I received in London.

After the picnic had been cleared away, we rode, as we used to, up and over Capel Month. It was snowing a little and the view was magnificent. We had always paused at this spot with Albert so that he could point out the beauties of the scenery. He taught us to appreciate so much. The weather made progress rather slow, and the sun was beginning to set as we came to Loch Muick. I was very tired and sad and not at all sure whether it was good to revive so many memories of happier days.

Back at Altnagiuthasach we stopped and Brown made tea, which was warm and refreshing.

By this time it was dark and as we moved on it seemed to me that Smith was driving the carriage somewhat erratically. Brown was on the box behind and we had gone about two miles out of Altnagiuthasach when the carriage seemed to turn up on one side.

“What is happening?” I demanded.

“Oh Mama,” cried Alice, “I believe we are turning over.”

She was right. I am not sure what happened but the next moment, I found myself lying face downward on the ground. The carriage was lying on its side and the horses were down. It was frightening.

Then I heard Brown's voice, “The Lord Almighty have mercy on us. Who ever did see the like of this before?”

He came to me and lifted me up.

“I thought ye were all killed,” he said. “Are ye all right?”

I found I was not badly hurt though my face was scratched and my right thumb was throbbing painfully.

“Brown,” I said, “help the others.”

Poor Smith stood by, confused and helpless. Poor old man. Brown was right. He was past it.

Brown extricated Alice and Lenchen from the wreckage and though they were bruised and their clothes torn, they were not really hurt. Efficient Brown cut the traces and soon had the horses on their feet. I was greatly relieved to see that they were not harmed either.

“What do we do now?” I said. “Here we are stranded on a lonely mountain.”

“I'll send Smith back with the horses,” said Brown. “And they can send another carriage.”

“Do you think he'll be all right? He's very shaken. He is so… old.”

“He has to be all right. I'm not leaving ye here … you and the young women.”

I felt it was wonderful to have a strong man to take charge. Dear Brown! Albert had been right—as always—to see in him an excellent servant.

And so we waited. Brown found some claret, which was comforting; and Willem, Alice's black serving boy who had been on the box, held the lantern so that we were not completely in the dark.

So we waited and waited.

“Your father always said we must make the best of what cannot be altered,” I told the girls.

“How right he was!” said Alice.

“He was always right,” I said firmly. “Oh dear, how I should love to tell him of this.”

“He knows it,” said Lenchen.

“Yes,” agreed Alice. “I believe he was watching over us. We have all been so lucky.”

About half an hour later we heard the sound of horses' hooves. It was Kennedy, a very favorite groom of Albert's. He had thought we were late and had come to see what had happened to us. He had brought ponies for us. Gratefully we mounted them, for we should have been waiting by the roadside until ten o'clock for the carriage to come. John Brown walked, holding my pony and Alice's. I protested because the poor man had hurt his knee when he jumped out of the carriage. He silenced me. He was in charge and had no intention of letting me ride on the rough road for fear there would be another accident.

Dear good faithful servant!

We progressed for some time in this way and in due course met Smith with the carriage to take us back.

What a fuss there was when we arrived! Fritz and Vicky had heard and came over. Louis was waiting anxiously. Brown said I must go to bed at once and ordered soup and fish to be sent to my room. I was shocked to see my bruised face and my thumb was swollen to twice its size. It was not broken, though, which I felt it might be.

What a day that had been! But I was not sorry, for in spite of my bruises and painful thumb, I had had yet another example of what a good and faithful servant I had in John Brown.