I never liked the woman!
Even Bertie raised objections.
He thought it should not be generally circulated. “It is all right for those of us in the family circle to read it,” he said, “but not beyond that.” He added, “It is rather private.”
“I think people are interested.”
“I think people are too interested in our doings.”
“There is nothing for me to be ashamed of in mine,” I said aiming a direct shaft at Bertie which went home. I added that Lord Beaconsfield had found Leaves enchanting. Perhaps because he was a writer himself and understood such things. He had often referred to us as fellow authors.
“He was always overeager to flatter. I heard he once said that he believed in flattery for all, but with royalty it had to be laid on with a trowel.”
I smiled. I could well believe the dear man had said that. But he really meant he had admired my book. He understood how one wanted to write as people like Bertie never would. But then when he was a boy he had shunned the pen—and had many a beating for it. No, Bertie could not be expected to understand.
I believe there was a conspiracy to prevent Brown's Life being written and I suspected Sir Henry to be at the root of it; and of course he would have plenty of supporters, including the Prince of Wales.
Sir Henry then said he would consult the Bishop of Ripon, Dr. Cameron Lees of Edinburgh, about the Life of Brown.
“These are men who know about these things, Your Majesty,” he said. He then brought in Lord Rowton. I wondered what Brown would have thought if he could have known about this. Important people were making such a to-do over his simple writings.
Dr. Lees thought it would be desirable to postpone the Life for a while. They called in Randall Davison, the Dean of Windsor, who applauded the decision to postpone; and he ventured the opinion that it would be desirable if no more Leaves were published.
I was very angry with him. Was the wretched Dean implying that the publication was vulgar and unseemly in my position?
I could not prevent myself showing my anger; and the Dean, realizing how offended I was, sent in his resignation. He said that he had displeased me and was sorry for it; but there was not a word about changing his mind.
It was true that my anger rose quickly; but it did as speedily depart.
I began to think about the Dean. It was wrong that he should resign over such a matter. He had offended me and he knew it. Yet he had spoken what he believed to be the truth. I must bear no grudge for that and in my heart I knew that he was right.
In view of all the scandal attached to my relationship with John Brown, the publication of his journals would only add to that. My life with Albert and the children was private too. I would read my journals; I would recall it all. I must accept the truth, and honor those who gave their opinions to me at the risk of their careers.
I must be wise. No more Leaves then, and the memoirs of my beloved Highland servant must be indefinitely postponed.
IT WAS A year since John Brown had died and I was still mourning. There were memories of him everywhere—especially at Balmoral. Helen was pregnant again and her little Alexandra was still little more than a baby. It was obvious that Helen was going to be fruitful and it was a mercy to know that the dreadful hemophilia was only passed on through the female side to the sons, so Leopold's children would be safe.
Leopold had one of his bouts of illness and the doctors had suggested he go off to the south of France. I heard from Helen that his health was greatly improved there.
On the very anniversary of John Brown's death, the twenty-seventh of March, I received a telegram from Cannes to say that Leopold had fallen and injured his knees. Because on that day I had awoken to a cloud of depression thinking of my Highland servant whom I missed so much, I was filled with apprehension. I had a suspicious feeling about dates. My dearest Albert and Alice had actually both died on the 14th December. It was small wonder that I felt this significance. So strong was my premonition that I thought of leaving for Cannes, but before I could make plans to do so another telegram arrived. Leopold had a fit which had resulted in hemorrhage of the brain. Leopold was dead.
Ever since we had known he was suffering from this fearsome malady we had been expecting this. Many weeks of anxiety I had suffered on Leopold's account. But later I had felt better about him and since his marriage and the birth of his first child I had begun to wonder whether I had been unduly anxious. I had reminded myself that he had so many of those bouts of bleeding but had always recovered from them.
But Death was all round me. I felt there was no escaping from it. I wondered all the time at whom it would point its finger next.
They brought home Leopold's body and it was buried in St. George's Chapel at Windsor.
Two children lost to me as well as my beloved husband!
Three months after Leopold's death, Helen gave birth to a son.
THE POLITICAL SITUATION was worrying; and each month it was brought home to me that Mr. Gladstone's methods were not those that had proved so successful in Lord Beaconsfield's day.
The trouble came from Egypt, which was at that time almost entirely administered by us. The inhabitants of the Sudan were led by a fanatical man called the Mahdi; and they were now menacing the Egyptian frontier. It was the task of the English government to decide whether to put down the rebellion or abandon the Sudan and cut it off from Egypt. The decision to abandon it was naturally taken by Gladstone and his supine supporters. How different it would have been if Lord Beaconsfield had been in command! Gladstone was terrified of what he called Imperialism. Had we been stronger in Egypt, as we should have been under Lord Beaconsfield, the Mahdi would never have risen against us. People like Gladstone with their weak so-called peace-loving policies, were the ones who were responsible for wars. We were drawn into these affrays through our weakness, never through our strength. Lord Palmerston had realized that and what was called his gun-boat policy had triumphed again and again. He believed in sending out a warning before hostilities commenced. Now the garrisons in Sudan must be rescued. The government was naturally dilatory in this, but the public demanded that General Gordon be sent out in order to negotiate with the Mahdi about the release of the beset garrisons.
I was very anxious particularly when Gordon was besieged by the Mahdi's forces in Khartoum. Again and again I warned the government that forces must be sent out to aid Gordon, but the government was afraid of war. I was glad to say that the public was with me, and finally Lord Wolseley was sent out to Gordon's aid. But he arrived too late. Khartoum was stormed and Gordon killed before Wolseley could get there.
I was horrified and so ashamed of my government. I told them I keenly felt the stain left on England. I had a bust made of Gordon and set up in one of the corridors of the castle.
I hoped the government would see the error of its ways. I hoped they would recall Lord Beaconsfield's energy and genius, which they called Imperialism. They did not understand that having attained the territories we must support them and never, never show weakness.
I was deeply concerned about the garrisons in Sudan and bitterly ashamed of our performance there.
The entire mission was a failure and as a result, the Sudan, which should never have been separated from Egypt, lapsed into barbarism.
Oh dear Lord Beaconsfield! I wondered if he was looking down in dismay at what was happening to all the work that he had so zealously done.