Now he was really serious. He wanted to marry a daughter of the Tsar. I was not at all pleased about this. The Russians had been our enemies and I did not entirely trust them. I began to reconsider Frederika. I had been rather fond of my blind cousin at one time, and I believed she was quite a pleasant girl. But Alfred—fickle creature—had forgotten Frederika and was set on Marie of Russia.
The Tsar at first had not been eager for the match and then seemed to change his mind. I heard rumors that came through our ambassador in Russia that Marie had been involved with Prince Golitsyn—and not only him—and that the Russian royal family were now eager to see her settled. Hence the sudden acceptance of marriage with Alfred.
Naturally I did not want such a marriage, and as Alfred was so feckless I felt I must reason with him. His past would not bear too much scrutiny. I could think of several reasons why the marriage should not take place. The Russians were half oriental; they were self-indulgent; I did not have a great opinion of the Romanovs. There would be a marriage in the Greek Church. No. I was against the match.
It seemed that the Russians were not too keen now either. There was a great deal of shilly-shallying, and I wondered if Alfred's pride would allow him to accept that. But he seemed to be unaware of it and he was pursuing marriage to Marie with a tenacity that I wished he would give to more worthy matters.
At last, to my dismay, the engagement was official. I asked that Marie should visit me at Balmoral at which I had a most impolite reply from the Tsar to the effect that he had no intention of sending his daughter for my approval. The Tsarina then suggested that I meet the Princess at Cologne.
“The impertinence!” I said. “Do they expect me to run after her!”
I was furious when Alice wrote to me advising me—advising me!—to meet the Tsarina and her daughter at Cologne. “The Tsarina feels the heat more than you do, Mama, and traveling is so tiresome for her. It is meeting half-way, and that seems reasonable.”
Reasonable! I thought. I picked up my pen and wrote to her:
You have entirely taken the Russian side, and I do not think, dear child, that you should tell me—who have been nearly twenty years longer on the throne than the Emperor of Russia and am the Doyenne of Sovereigns and who am a reigning Sovereign which the Empress is not—what I ought to do. I do think I know that. How could I, who am not like any little Princess, be ready to run at the slightest call of the mighty Russians.
Bertie and Alexander were, of course, in favor of the Russian marriage because Alexandra's sister Dagmar was married to the Tsarevitch. Bertie invited them to come to England, which they did. I found them very charming and I felt less animosity to the Russians after that. Alexandra's sister was a pleasant creature—not as beautiful as Alexandra, but the affection between them was strong, and I really became quite enchanted by them all.
And when I did meet Princess Marie I found her warm and loving, and I saw no reason why—if she would learn our English ways—she should not make Alfred a good wife. Heaven knew he needed a steadying influence.
I had a long talk with Alfred warning him of the duties and the responsibilities of marriage and expressed the fervent hope that he would change his life when he became a husband. But I did not believe he paid much attention.
At length they were married in St. Petersburg. I sent my dear friend Dean Stanley to perform the wedding ceremony after the Anglican rite. It was by all means a glittering occasion.
HOW FICKLE ARE the people! Those who had heralded Mr. Gladstone's ministry a few years before were now weary of him.
He had realized the signs of weakness in the Liberal party and that it no longer possessed the power to carry on in government.
He came to see me and delivered one of his harangues. I paid more attention this time because I realized he was thinking of relinquishing office. His Irish Universities Bill had been turned out and several Liberal candidates had been defeated in by-elections. Of course, he was a great reformer and although people clamor for this, when the reforms are brought in they see that they are not all they were made out to be.
I was reading the accounts of Alfred's grand wedding when I had a telegram from Mr. Gladstone telling me that the Cabinet had decided to dissolve Parliament.
There was an election. Mr. Gladstone retained his seat but it was a triumphant victory for the Tories.
I waited impatiently for my new Prime Minister to call.
He had aged a little. The sorrow he had suffered at the death of Mary Anne had affected him deeply. I saw this at once and when I held out my hand for him to kiss, I touched his head as he bent and said, “Dear Mr. Disraeli, this is indeed a happy moment.”
“For me, Ma'am,” he replied, “it is the start of life again.”
I knew what he meant. In his devotion to me, he could salve the grief he suffered at the death of Mary Anne.
LIFE WAS MUCH happier for me now that I had my dear Mr. Disraeli as a constant visitor. Although we had kept in touch during his years in opposition, for we were both prolific letter writers, it was much more satisfying to see him in person.
I had to admit that Mr. Gladstone was a man of high principle and he had worked hard for his country; but then so did Mr. Disraeli and he did it gracefully, so that it was a pleasure to be with him. He made state affairs a matter of interest and amusement, as Lord Melbourne used to. That was a much more effective way of dealing with them, for Mr. Gladstone's tedious speeches did have a tendency to send me to sleep.
Mr. Disraeli was a great talker and his descriptions were so vivid. I felt I knew so much about him, his ambitions, his determination to “climb the greasy pole” as he expressed it, to the premiership. “And,” he said, “it is much harder, Ma'am, I do assure you, to stay at the top of it than climb it.” I was sure he was right.
It was from him that I learned of Mr. Gladstone's peregrinations after dark through the streets of London. “His great desire, Ma'am, is to rescue ladies of easy virtue and bring them back to paths of righteousness.”
I was incredulous. “Mr. Gladstone behaving so! I wonder what Mrs. Gladstone has to say.”
“She is a most devoted wife. She believes unshakably in the virtue of her husband.”
“Does she join him in this…er…work?”
“Indeed, Ma'am, I believe they have ‘rescued’ one or two. It has been going on for years.”
“It seems to me an odd occupation for such a man.”
“It is a dangerous one.” He looked at me slyly. “People are apt to misconstrue.”
“I cannot believe Mr. Gladstone would ever be anything but virtuous. Oh dear, poor Mrs. Gladstone!”
Mr. Disraeli had a wonderful effect on me. I felt better than I had since Albert's death. I felt more alive. I felt younger, even attractive, not as a queen but as a woman.
I believe that in a way he was in love with me. People do not always understand these things. They think that love must be a physical thing. Far from it. I was never what is called “physical” in that respect. I did not need that sort of contact; my emotions were of the spirit. I had heard that he had written of me that now that Mary Anne was dead, I was the only person in the world left to him to love. He was completely devoted to me; our meetings brought as much joy to him as they did to me. I knew that he called me “The Faerie Queen.” I thought that was rather charming and I was grateful to him.