Виктория Холт - The Widow of Windsor

Dear Lord Melbourne had been there to sustain her; she shed a tear for Lord Melbourne. So godlike he had seemed until Albert came along and showed her how weak, how ineffectual all men were compared with Albert.

And now she had been fifty years a Queen.

She thought: And I am alone to celebrate it, for although I have my children I have always been alone since the loss of that dear beloved one.

As she rose, the sun shone brilliantly and she breakfasted out of doors and afterwards drove to the station. Crowds cheered her all the way. The royal train was waiting to take her to Paddington Station; and once more loyal crowds shouted their approval as she rode through the Park to Buckingham Palace.

The streets were already decorated for the great tomorrow. That day she received the visiting royalty and there was a grand dinner-party for the crowned heads of Europe, most of whom had close family ties with the Queen.

She retired early in readiness for the great day.

* * *

How magnificent it was! Tears filled her eyes because Albert was not there to share it with her. The thousands who lined the streets shouted their loyal greetings as she came into sight in her open carriage drawn by six magnificent cream-coloured horses; she had especially wanted to be escorted by Indian cavalry, not only as a compliment to her new subjects but also to remind people of the greatness of her Empire.

Behind her rode Bertie, Alfred and Arthur. Alas, there was one son missing, dear Leopold. One thought of these sad losses at such a time. All her sons-in-law were there. It was a great joy that dear Fritz had not been absent as she had feared he might. It was true he could scarcely speak; that fearful affliction of the throat prevented that; but he looked magnificent. How proud Albert would have been to see Germany represented in such a manner and to know the little German States were now one mighty Empire and Vicky would one day be Empress. The German Eagle on Fritz’s helmet brought a frenzy of cheering from the crowd. For the Germans! thought the Queen when she heard it and knew for whom it was intended. They knew how to show their might. All her grandsons were there, including of course Wilhelm, of whom Vicky had complained so bitterly. He would be feeling gratified at the cheers for his father.

What an impressive moment it was when she walked into the Abbey to the sound of a march by Handel! And of course Albert’s own composition must be included in the ceremony; on that she had insisted. He could not be with her in the flesh but his music should be there; the choir sang the anthem which he had written and her eyes were glazed with tears as she listened.

My dearest Albert, how different everything would have been had you been spared to me! she thought. Everything else I could have borne if you had been with me.

But he had been taken and she had her children. Then she thought of Alice and Leopold, the lost ones, and how sad it was that they so young should be gone and she an old woman still here. Then all the grandchildren. How proud Albert would have been of them!

Her bonnet – made of lace and glittering with diamonds – shook a little. She had insisted on bonnets for all the women including herself, although many were shocked at the idea and thought she should have worn the crown. But she had said it should be a bonnet and she was the Queen and if she could not always have her way in State matters, she would over a matter of bonnets.

She felt tired but elated when they returned to the Palace; but of course this was not the end. The great entertainment was about to begin.

She was helped into her dress embroidered with jewels, representing England, Scotland and Ireland, roses, thistles and shamrocks – and then to the great banqueting hall to receive all the visiting royalties and the many guests who had come from all over the world to celebrate her fifty years as Queen.

At last the long day was over and she sank gratefully into bed; but not to sleep, to brood on the past fifty years and through her mind paraded the significant figures of the past – the Uncle Kings, George and William; dear kind Aunt Adelaide; Mama with whom there had been such storms; the well-beloved Lord Melbourne; the at first hated and afterwards deeply respected Sir Robert Peel; dear exciting Mr Disraeli; the heartily disliked Mr Gladstone – still not escaped from, she feared; good faithful John Brown; all her living children – and those dear dead ones; the grandchildren; the family by marriage. So many of them dominated always by the one great figure: Albert.

Oh, Albert, if you had lived to see this day, she kept telling herself, how different everything would have been!

Her Golden Jubilee – fifty years since that long ago June day when they awakened her from her bed; and nearly twenty-seven years since she had lost her love, and therefore her zest for living. And she still mourned him. His was the face that came to her whenever she thought of the past.

‘Albert,’ she cried on this great night, as she had cried so often during the last twenty-six years, ‘why were you taken from me?’

A few months later there was grave news from Berlin. Dr Mackenzie now agreed with the German doctors that the Crown Prince was suffering from cancer of the throat. He was in great pain; his voice had disappeared completely, and death was imminent.

Vicky was heartbroken. Fritz had been the bulwark between herself and her German family and the German people. They had never liked her; her mother-in-law had given her the room in the Schloss next to the haunted chamber and had tried to unnerve her with grisly accounts of spectres; when she arrived she had been obliged to ride in an icy wind through the streets of Berlin wearing only a flimsy evening dress; there had been hostile shouts in the streets; and she had never been allowed to forget that she was a foreigner. This had been galling to proud and clever Vicky. There had been wars which had brought about conflict in the family. Alix – and she carried Bertie with her – had hated the Prussians since the Schleswig-Holstein war. Life had been very difficult; but never so as now with her kind, easy-going husband dying and Wilhelm, the heir, strutting, haughty, hardly deigning to notice his mother. And without the protection of Fritz she would be exposed to her enemies.

There was a further development. The old Emperor clearly could not live long; and there were rumours that he might die before Fritz; both were doomed men. There was one who viewed this situation with the utmost complacence: Wilhelm, who on the death of his grandfather and father would be the Emperor of Germany.

The Queen discussed the matter with Bertie and told him how sad she felt for Vicky, who was clearly distraught. Bertie said that the idea of that arrogant young coxcomb, his nephew Wilhelm, becoming an Emperor was more than he could stand; he hoped he never again had to see the arrogant young puppy.

‘He was a great favourite of dearest Papa and that is something I can never forget,’ said the Queen.

‘Dearest Papa did not live long enough to know what a grandson he had. Otherwise he might not have been quite so fond of Wilhelm.’

‘There was his poor arm,’ said the Queen tolerantly. ‘I am sure that has been very difficult to contend with.’

‘Vicky did everything she could for him. He could at least be grateful, but he treats her abominably. And do you know, Mama, I believe he has designs on England.’

‘Designs on England! Good gracious, Bertie, whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean he would like to oust me … us … from the throne.’

‘Oust us from the throne.’ All the Queen’s Majesty descended upon her. Bertie thought: She may think she likes to live in seclusion; she may imply that she would gladly relinquish her crown; but just try suggesting it! ‘Why, Bertie, I never heard such nonsense.’

‘But, Mama, Wilhelm has become so arrogant that he is capable of thinking such nonsense. I sent him a kilt and everything that goes with it in Royal Stuart tartan. He asked for it because he said he wanted to wear it at a fancy-dress ball. And do you know, Mama, he had the temerity to have a photograph taken in it and wrote underneath it: “I bide my time.” This he had distributed widely.’

‘Little Willie will have to be taught a lesson or two,’ said the Queen grimly. ‘And when I next see him I will undertake to explain to him that this will not do. I am sorry for poor Vicky. You children have given me many causes for anxiety but I must say that I have never had to complain of your lack of respect to me as your mother and your Queen.’

‘Thank you, Mama. It would in any case be impossible to show disrespect to you even if one wanted to – which is equally impossible.’

The Queen smiled. Bertie had a very gracious way of paying a compliment. She had certain things to be thankful for in Bertie and she was really quite fond of him. Of course he was frivolous and not really a good husband to dear sweet Alix because of this obsession of his with women; but he had charm.

‘Dear Bertie,’ she said. ‘And young Willy may be left to me.’

* * *

There came news that the old Emperor had died; Fritz was now Emperor of Germany and Vicky its Empress.

‘How proud dearest Papa would have been,’ said the Queen.

But Vicky was growing more and more uneasy. Poor Fritz was failing fast; he suffered agony and could not speak at all. He was Emperor for a hundred days and then the sad news came that he was dead.

Wilhelm was so triumphant that he made no secret of his elation. Delighted as he was, yet he blamed his mother for his father’s death. He kept her virtually a prisoner and would not allow her access to any of his father’s papers.

Bertie, attending his brother-in-law’s funeral, was horrified at the new young Emperor’s manner and the way in which his sister was treated.

Bertie returned to England and reported to the Queen; she was furious and when Wilhelm’s envoy was sent to her to announce formally his master’s accession she received him with the utmost coldness.

Wilhelm was resentful. Did his grandmother forget that now he was an Emperor he was of equal importance with her as she was an Empress?

Victoria replied that she had certainly received coldly an envoy who came to announce a death in triumph and without a word of sorrow. The announcement was to her most callous and unseemly. Such conduct would always be received with coldness by her.

Uncle Bertie, complained Wilhelm, had not treated him as an Emperor.

The Queen was incensed. Is the Prince of Wales to treat his nephew as his Imperial Majesty every minute of the day? How absurd. They were all members of a family and they should be treated as such; that was with affection and kindness … if they deserved it! She was a Queen and an Empress but she did not expect members of her family to address her as Your Majesty instead of Mama or Grandmama as the case might be. If Wilhelm felt he was going to flaunt the German Eagle in her private drawing-room he had better keep it where it belonged – in Germany.

Bertie and Wilhelm would never like each other, although Bertie would have forgiven past arrogance if Wilhelm had shown signs of mending his ways. But he did not. The fact that he was the German Emperor had gone to his head and he wanted everyone to remember it every minute of the day.

The Queen agreed with Lord Salisbury that the relations of the two countries should not be affected by ridiculous quarrels like this. They would have to be very careful, though, with such a conceited young man sitting on one of the most powerful thrones in Europe.

Bertie was once more in trouble. It had all come about in the strangest manner. He was at this time deeply enamoured of Lady Brooke, a very forceful, cool beauty in her twenties, and was so taken with her that he had scarcely any time for other women. It was like the Langtry affair over again. Frances Brooke – ‘Daisy’ to her friends – was of an unusual character and the Prince was completely intrigued by everything about her. It was the usual pattern; if hostesses wished him to grace their parties invitations must be sent to Lord and Lady Brooke. The former should be there for the sake of convention, of course.