I was very angry.
“Was there nothing we could do?” I demanded.
Nothing, said Lord John. Leopold had been King of the Belgians, and they would have him interred in Belgium.
So Uncle Leopold did not come to England.
Lenchen and Louise tried to comfort me. Brown was scornful, implying that it was no matter over which to lose any sleep.
“He's gone and that's an end of it,” he said.
“It is because they are Catholics,” I explained. “I think that is the main objection.”
“Catholics are nasty beggars,” said John Brown.
“Oh Brown,” I said with a little laugh, “you are incorrigible.”
“I'm here to look after you, woman,” he said, “and blubbering over a grave is nae good for ye health.”
What a man! My spirits were lifted just to listen to his quaint way of expressing himself and his good, honest, frank way of doing it.
ON THE DEATH of Palmerston, I had called in Lord John, who had gone into the House of Lords as Earl Russell, and asked him to take Palmerston's place. My dear friend Lord Clarendon was given the post of Foreign Secretary, which Russell had hitherto held; and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, William Gladstone, became Leader of the House.
That year Alfred was coming of age and Lenchen's marriage was taking place. They would need grants and I was very eager that there should not be unpleasantness in Parliament about this.
Lord John urged me to come to London to open Parliament; and I felt that, in the circumstances, although it was five years since I had done so, I must give way on this occasion.
So I agreed to on condition that the ceremony should be performed without the usual fanfare of trumpets and gilded trappings, which normally accompanied it. The state carriage was replaced by another of more modern style although it was drawn by eight cream-colored horses. And I did not wish to wear the robes of state, but had them laid on a chair beside me. I was dressed in black with the type of cap that is always associated with Mary Stuart; my garments being brightened by the Ribbon of the Garter.
The people greeted me with warmth and it was clear that they were pleased to see me. I acknowledged their greetings rather solemnly because I wanted them to realize that I was still in mourning.
I was glad when there was no haggling about the allowances, and rather surprised that not a voice was raised in opposition. Helena was granted a dowry of £30,000 and an annuity of £6,000; and Alfred was to have a yearly sum of £15,000, which would be raised to £25,000 on his marriage.
This was very gratifying.
Later I went to Aldershot to review the troops.
I was pleased to hear that Mary of Cambridge had become engaged to the Duke of Teck. This gave me gratification because Mary was no longer young and she was too large to be really attractive. Moreover the Duke of Teck was connected with the Saxe-Coburg family, so I heartily approved of the match.
I attended Mary's wedding at Kew, dressed in deepest black in case anyone should think I had forgotten Albert; and a month later my dear Lenchen was married at Windsor
I WAS VERY alarmed by the conflict growing between Prussia and Austria. Having taken Schleswig-Holstein, they were now quarreling over the spoils. I understood what they wanted. It was the unification of German States, and the question was who should be at the head of them. Bismarck was determined that it should be Prussia, and he had not talked of Blood and Iron for nothing.
The struggle cut through the family. The Crown Prince naturally stood with Prussia, but Alice's Louis and my poor blind Cousin George of Hanover were for Austria. The idea of having two sons-in-law fighting against each other was abhorrent to me.
I knew that Albert would have wanted to see Prussia dominant; but the situation had changed since Albert's death, and I wondered what his feelings would be now. His hope had been that Vicky would one day be Queen of Prussia, and if Prussia succeeded it would mean that Vicky and Fritz would be two of the most powerful sovereigns in Europe. But what of Alice and Louis? What of poor blind George?
I begged Lord Russell to do everything possible to prevent war. I offered to act as mediator between the two states. Bismarck was almost contemptuous in his refusal. What an odious man! It was an unhappy day when he rose to power.
Not only was there all this trouble abroad, but domestic difficulties arose. Lord Russell told me that he thought the government might be defeated over the Bill they had recently introduced. I knew that we needed this matter of the extended franchise settled, and that it had been going on for a long time.
Lord Russell said, “Your Majesty's government thinks you should remain at Windsor instead of going to Balmoral this spring, for if a ministerial crisis arose, you should be on the spot.”
I refused, and really I believed I was far more worried about what was happening on the Continent than at home.
The Reform Bill was in committee when the storm broke and war between Prussia and Austria broke out. Almost immediately Lord Russell sent his resignation to Balmoral.
I was very annoyed. I wrote to him that in the present state of Europe, I thought it was apathetic of the government to abandon their posts in consequence of a defeat on detail in a matter which demanded concessions on both sides. I asked him to reconsider their decision.
Lord Russell was adamant. I retorted that his withdrawal was betrayal; and I stayed on at Balmoral.
Lord Derby then accepted office and Benjamin Disraeli was the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House. But it was the war in Europe that gave me sleepless nights. I wrote to Alice telling her to send her children to me because I had a terrible feeling that HesseDarmstadt was not going to stand out against the Prussians. I sent linen for the wounded. It was a dreadful feeling to be supporting Fritz's enemies, but his enemies were my beloved daughter and her husband. Strife in the family is like Civil War—the most heartrending conflict of them all.
The Prussians overran Hanover, depriving poor George of his throne. He took refuge in Paris with his family. At least his life was saved.
Then … the war was over. In seven weeks. Prussia was victorious. Bismarck was getting his wish. Prussia's grasp of the Imperial Crown of Germany was in sight.
And the price: Hanover, part of the British Crown, was ours no longer. The First George had brought it to us, and I should have been its Queen but for the Salic Law. Now that had passed out of our hands. Poor Louis had lost much of his territory and was greatly reduced in power— as were the smaller German States.
They would soon all be under one rule—that of the all-powerful Prussia. It had been a time of distress and I was glad to stay in Balmoral to discuss an account of Albert's early life, which was to be published. I was helping to compile this with my secretary, General Grey; and although I wept bitterly over the letters—of which it mainly consisted—I could absorb myself completely and it was almost like having Albert with me.
When the book appeared it was a great success; and I decided that there should be a biography of Albert and for this I called in Sir Theodore Martin; and he set to work.
I was so engrossed in the work and the company of these men who seemed to have a special understanding of Albert that I decided to publish some writings of my own. I had always kept an account of day-to-day happenings and I went through some of them. It was amazing how those words brought back memories of the bygone days, so that I felt I was living them again.
Early in the following year my Leaves from a Journal of Our Life in the Highlands from 1848 to 1861 appeared. It was a great success. Of course it was very simply written and from the heart, and I think people began to realize then my devotion to Albert, and to understand why I felt the need to shut myself away and mourn.