by Jean Plaidy
How I hated war! It dominated my thoughts. I hated the thought of all that death and destruction; and my subjects being at the heart of it.
Lord Palmerston was letting everyone know that had he been in power the war could have been avoided. It was the foolish policy of appeasement which was the cause of many a war. If Russia had not believed that England would stand aside, if we had not had a vacillating government, they would never have dared to take action.
I was beginning to think that Palmerston must be right.
I can hardly bear to think of that time and the terrible hardships endured by my people. The disaster of Balaclava, the empty triumphs of Alma and Inkerman, the terrible epidemics which raged through the armies and killed more men than the guns.
I was proud of Miss Florence Nightingale, who went out with her nurses to look after them. She was magnificent working under the most fearful conditions.
Albert was at his desk for hours; he was continually thinking up improvements for the army which were presented to the government; and almost all of them were adopted. He insisted that we needed more men; we needed a more efficient commissariat; we needed improvements everywhere. The government was weak; he was finding himself more and more in agreement with Palmerston. And in time the inevitable happened. Palmerston had to be there, at the head of affairs. The people believed he was the only man who could end this wretched war. I think we all knew it too.
In due course Palmerston came to the Palace; he kissed my hand in accordance with tradition and set about forming a government with himself as its Prime Minister.
There was fresh hope everywhere. People were dancing in the streets. “Palmerston is back,” they cried. “Soon we shall be victorious now.” And although there were no miracles, events did take a turn for the better. Palmerston, energetic, positive and constructive, had the people behind him. He and Albert were agreeing on many important matters and I felt my antipathy toward the man fading a little.
He was certain that he was right and determined not to sway for anything—not even his own position. I suppose that was an inherent honesty. The only people who were against Palmerston at that time were certain politicians. It has always amazed me how petty they can be; I suppose they are so ambitious for themselves, so eager not to miss the slightest chance of their advancement, that they cannot bear to see others leaping ahead. Mr. Disraeli was very disappointed. I believed he had set his heart on the premiership for himself; he resorted to personal abuse, calling Palmerston “an old painted pantaloon, very deaf, very blind, with false teeth that were constantly threatening to fall out of his mouth.” Such items had nothing to do with winning the war and this was blatant envy. Palmerston was old; he was seventy, I believe; he may have touched up his cheeks; but I suspected Mr. Disraeli himself dyed his own hair. Mr. Disraeli had outstanding gifts, and it amazed me—as it has on many occasions—how men who are truly great can be so bemused by jealousy as to betray their baser side so childishly.
I received the news of the death of Tsar Nicholas with mixed feelings. There was great rejoicing. This was just retribution, it was said. The man who had been the cause of the deaths of thousands was now taken himself. I could only remember the man I had known, with his wild eyes and eccentric habits. He had really been rather charming.
But the war continued without him.
Albert crossed to France for a conference with the Emperor. He came back with copious notes and said he thought the Emperor was rather indolent. However, the visit improved relations with France and I was sure Albert had made a good impression.
We were now so friendly with the Emperor that he and his wife paid us a return visit. I was most interested to meet them. Louis Napoleon was a very charming man, but quite small in stature, and his wife was very tall and slender. We made a striking contrast, I being so short and, I have to admit, inclined to plumpness, whereas Eugénie was so tall and willowy. On the other hand, Albert's tall figure called attention to the Emperor's lack of inches—so as far as appearances went we were an incongruous quartette.
I took them to Windsor which impressed them as it did all visitors.
I found them delightful, which was a surprise because I had been expecting the Emperor to be something of an upstart. He was very complimentary to me and he had a soft gentle voice; he really knew how to charm women, and I noticed his eyes following some of our more spectacular beauties. Albert was inclined to suspect such men but I admit to a weakness in myself inasmuch as I did enjoy their company. And thus it was with the Emperor.
We took him to a review of the troops in the Park. He rode a magnificent chestnut and bowed so charmingly to the onlookers that he was loudly cheered. He told me that years ago when he had lived humbly in England he had once been among the crowd to watch me ride by. That had been fourteen years before. “A sight so impressive, so touching in its dignity,” he said. “I never forgot it…or you.” He was a very charming man. The Empress was delightful too.
When they were introduced to the children Vicky was overawed by her—not so much by her dignity as her beauty and the lovely clothes she so elegantly wore. The two of them were so natural with the children, which was rather delightful in persons of their position, and I was pleased to see that the Emperor took a special interest in Bertie. Bertie's response was immediate. He was so accustomed to being put in the shade by his brilliant sister that he responded to attention like a flower opening to a spell of rare sunshine.
He chattered away to the Emperor and I was glad Albert was not present or he would have restrained him, but I thought it would do Bertie no harm, and I could see that the Emperor was enjoying the boy's questions. Bertie wanted to know about the French army, the guns, and the uniforms.
“I want to be a soldier when I grow up,” he confided to the Emperor.
“You'll be a good one,” replied the Emperor with a smile. “I wish you would join my army.”
“Oh,” cried Bertie, “so do I.” Then he said something that shocked me. “I wish you were my father.”
I was about to protest, but the Emperor was shrugging off the remark with great tact, and I felt that the only way was to treat it lightly as a child's carelessly spoken word in a thoughtless moment.
But deep down in my heart I knew that Bertie meant what he said.
In August we paid a return visit to France. The war was going moderately well and we received a great welcome there. There were processions through the streets with the people crying: “Vive la Reine d'Angleterre,” and I was so glad that they did not forget to shout: “Vive le Prince Albert.”
I felt the Emperor and Empress really were our friends.
Albert's birthday occurred during that visit and we celebrated it at St. Cloud. It was a wonderful day. The Emperor had composed special music for the day and there was present-giving just as at home. Then we went out onto the palace balcony and three hundred French drummers paid tribute to Albert.
He was thirty-seven. I prayed God to bless him and protect him for many years to come.
My present to him was some beautiful studs. There was a blank space in them at the time and I told him that when Sebastopol fell, they should have that name on them, so that in years to come he would remember when I had given them to him.
Sebastopol! How we longed for it to fall! When it did that must signify the end of the war was in sight. But although the war was going well for us, Sebastopol continued to hold out.
I told Albert how enchanted I was by the Emperor.
He looked at me and smiled.
“My dear child, you do grow so enthusiastic so quickly.”
“I know.”
“It was only a little while ago that you were reviling him as an upstart, and now because he has whispered a few charming words in your ear…”
“It is nothing of the sort!” I protested. “I know him now … personally. I didn't then.”
Albert was right, of course. He was so much more calm than I, so balanced, so less likely to be influenced
by personal charm. But I had changed a great deal since my marriage. I was growing a little more like Albert. I wondered if when we were very old I should be exactly like him. That would be a great improvement, I knew; but I did wonder whether I should get so much fun out of life.
WE WERE CONFIDENT of victory now although the Russians still clung to Sebastopol, and it was suggested that I might take a holiday away from the cares of State—just for a few weeks. If my presence was needed in London I could be recalled.
So happily we set out for Scotland. It was particularly exciting this year because the new Balmoral had been completed, just as Albert had designed it; and we had been longing to see it for some time.
How I loved it! It was like a baronial castle. I loved the pitch pine and the tartan interior.
“Everything,” I cried, “is perfection.” It was a delight to think that it was Albert's creation—his own building, his own laying out…as at Osborne. I could detect his wonderful good taste and his dear hand everywhere.
That was a never-to-be-forgotten stay at Balmoral, for we had not been there very long when the news came to us that Sebastopol had fallen. It was the news we had been waiting for. After three hundred and ninety-nine days, the city had capitulated.
Albert and I clasped hands and looked at each other. I think we were both near to tears. We went to the window and looked out. On a hill, well within sight of Balmoral, a pile of wood stood waiting; it had been there for a whole year.
Albert solemnly went out. I watched him climb the hill and set fire to the bonfire. It was the signal. Soon I saw a string of them blazing away, proclaiming the fall of Sebastopol.
There was something else that made that visit a memorable one.
Albert said to me, “I have invited Fritz to Balmoral.”
I knew at once what he meant. His heart was set on a marriage between Vicky and Fritz; he wanted Vicky to be Queen of Prussia.
I said she was too young.
“The marriage could not take place until she is seventeen,” said Albert, “but I want her to get to know Fritz. I do not want her to go straight to him. Let them be together… let them get to know each other…to like each other.”
I knew it was a good idea, and I looked forward to welcoming Fritz to Balmoral.
I liked him very much. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and pleasantlooking. He was greatly in awe of Albert and obviously had been told what a wonderful person he was. That made us both warm toward him.
Fritz fell into our ways with a charming ease. He was determined to make himself agreeable, and it was perfectly obvious that he greatly admired Vicky. It would have been surprising if any young man had not done so, for she was very pretty, and of course, so bright that she must be noticed.
Fritz went stalking with Albert, riding with us both, and picnics with the family.
It was all very pleasant.
I was amused by my gillie, John Brown—such an honest, outspoken man! “So he's to have yon lass,” he said to me.
I was rather taken aback and I said, “Well, Brown, we hope it will turn out something like that.”
Albert thought they were too familiar, these gillies. My special favorites were Grant and Brown. I liked their honesty. “They are not accustomed to royalty,” I said, “and even if they were they could not pretend, even to us.”
Vicky, of course, enjoyed being the center of the romance. She knew what it was all about and behaved in a rather coquettish manner, sometimes being quite affectionate to Fritz and at others indifferent.
I knew what was coming when Fritz asked if he could come to see me. I immediately granted the interview, and he told me how happy he was to be with us and what a wonderful visit this had been. He admired Albert and me more than any people he knew, and he loved our daughter. Would we allow him to make a formal proposal for Vicky's hand?
I told him that it was what Albert and I had hoped for.
He was delighted. He was such a dear boy—though he was not such a boy really. He must have been about twenty-six then—so much older than Vicky, but not too old; and Vicky would never have lived happily with a very young man. She needed someone older, someone experienced; otherwise she would have been managing everything.
I told Albert what had happened.
I think he was a little upset. I could understand it was galling on occasions like this when people came to me, for in the ordinary way they would have gone to the father. But after all I was the Queen.
He was very emotional to think of his little Vicky marrying. I always felt a faint irritation about his obsession with Vicky and much as I tried to suppress it, I could not always do so.
“It is what you wanted,” I said sharply. “In fact it is what you arranged, and Fritz was your choice.”
“I know. I know. It has to happen. But how we shall miss her!”
“We have the others.”
He smiled sadly. “They are not Vicky.”
“Oh, I know how you dote on her. She can do no wrong in your eyes. I hope she will have as lenient a husband as she has had a father.”
Albert wore that look of tender exasperation that meant he was trying to reason with a wayward child. It often irritated me and especially when the subject of contention was Vicky.
“Vicky,” I said, “is talented and good-looking, but you do show that you care for her…more than for any of us.”
“Liebchen!”
“It is all very well to be shocked, to pretend… but it is obvious. Vicky this… and Vicky that…Vicky is always so good, so very good that Bertie has to be proved wrong to show how good Vicky is.”
“Victoria, what are you saying?”
I looked at him. My dear dear Albert. There were lines of pain on his beautiful face. He did work so hard, and all for the good of those about him … the country … the family … all of us. He suffered terribly from rheumatism. He was wearing a wig occasionally because his hair was thinning and his head became so cold. Its darkness made him look pale.
I was immediately contrite. I ran to him. “Albert, you must take care of yourself.”
“My dear child, you flit from one subject to another.”
“The impulse comes and I say what I think. I have always been like that.”
He stroked my hair. “It is not your fault. It is the way you were brought up… encouraged in tantrums…never corrected. My poor, poor child.”
I always hated those shafts at dear old Lehzen, but I was so worried about his frail looks that I let this one pass.
I had the fleeting thought that when Vicky was actually married, she would have to go to Prussia and that would leave the field clear for me.
It was an odd thought to have about one's own daughter. I suppose I was jealous of all the time Albert gave to her.
ALBERT ARRANGED A ride to Craig-na-Ban. The entire family—apart from the very young ones—were to go.
We set out accompanied by two gillies, John Grant and John Brown, and we decided on the point where the carriage should pick up those who did not want to ride back.
The outing was a great success. Fritz had his chance. He and Vicky rode side by side and sat a little apart from the rest of us when we picnicked.
I could see by their faces that Fritz had proposed and that Vicky had accepted.
When we returned to the castle Vicky came to our room as I knew she would; she ran to Albert and threw her arms about him. “Papa,” she said, “I am going to marry Fritz.” Then she turned to me.
“We are not surprised,” I said kissing her. “Your father thought it would be an excellent match.”
“But, Vicky, you would not have been forced or even pressed to take him … if it had not been your wish,” said Albert quickly.
“I know, dearest Papa,” said Vicky, smiling fondly at him.
“There will not be a wedding for some time,” said Albert.
“Oh no, Papa.” She looked at him in horror. “How shall I bear to leave you …” Then looking at me, “To leave you both
.”
“It is in the nature of things,” I reminded her. “And it will not be for three years,” comforted Albert; and they exchanged a loving look.
“I wonder how I can leave you,” said Vicky blankly.
“We shall see each other,” said Albert. “We shall visit Prussia and you will come to England.”
“Oh yes, yes,” said Vicky. “We shall meet… often, shan't we?”
Albert nodded. He put his arms round us both. “I shall pray,” he said, “that you, my dearest Vicky, will be as happy as your mother and I have been.”
THERE SEEMED TO be spies everywhere. We had not wished the news of Vicky's engagement to be generally known for a while; she was so young and it would be some time before the marriage could take place. But almost immediately the Press were on to it.
“Who is this Frederick of Prussia?” asked the headlines. “Another little German princeling.”
The old story of Albert's family taking over England was repeated.
The Prussians retaliated. Was it such a good match? What dowry was being offered? Frederick was the future King of Prussia. The English seemed to have forgotten that. The Princess would have to come to Germany to marry.
I was very angry when I heard this. These Germans were indeed arrogant. There was a little storm with Albert for he always made excuses for them. I accused him of agreeing with everything they said, of arranging a match that would be prestigious to Germany.
Albert tried to calm me.
“It is the usual outcry of the Press,” he said. “They must have something controversial and sensational to sell their papers. Soon there will not be room enough in the same country for the Monarchy and The Times. The Monarchy wishes to do good; the Times wishes to make mischief. Do not let them irritate us, for that is their object. We can defeat it by ignoring it. In time everything must work out for the best—and, of course, Vicky will be married here.”
Of course he was right—as he always was.
THE WAR IN the Crimea was drawing to an end and I wanted to institute a medal, which would be the highest order possible and which could be conferred on all those, military, naval and others, who had performed, in the presence of an enemy, some outstanding act of bravery and devotion to their country.