One would not have believed that the central figure in the case was William Gordon Cumming. It was the Prince of Wales who filled the papers. And even when the case was decided against Gordon Cumming in such a manner that there could be little doubt of his guilt, it was Bertie whom the Press pilloried.
The future king, said the Press, is given to gambling, horse-racing, and other activities… not concerned with matters of state. His income was clearly too large. There were other causes on which the money could be better spent. There had been a time when Mr. Gladstone had induced the Prince to take up some charitable work and he had become a member of the Royal Commission on the Housing of the Working Classes.
Bertie, for all his faults, had a kind heart and he had been horrified at some of the conditions in which the poor lived; he had made his views widely known. This gave the Press the opportunity of accusing him of hypocrisy. Here was the man who had been outraged by the misfortunes of others. He could do something about it. He could spend some of his vast income on helping the poor, but he preferred to play for large stakes at baccarat. Was this the man who would one day be King? He was given to pleasure. Of what use was he to the nation?
It was hard to believe that when he had been on the point of death they had mourned for him; and when there had been that triumphant journey to the cathedral to give thanks for his return to health they had cheered him so loudly. This was the mob.
One of the papers very alarmingly pointed out that it was conduct such as this that had brought about the French Revolution.
Wilhelm pretended to be infuriated. When Bertie had been in Prussia, Wilhelm had made him an honorary Colonel of the Prussian Guard. My grandson now wrote to me pompously stating that he was deeply put out that one of his colonels should behave in such a manner as to become involved in scandal.
I laughed contemptuously at the arrogant fellow and wished he was with me so that I could give him a piece of my mind. Bertie was outraged and the hatred between him and his nephew had become even greater than it was before.
We heard from Vicky that Wilhelm blew up the matter out of all proportion and that it took up a lot of space in the German Press.
One German paper—obviously inspired by Wilhelm—said that the Prince of Wales had a new motto: Ich Deal.
Poor Bertie! In spite of the fact that I deplored his way of life, I could feel almost sorry for him.
I THINK I had begun to change during my friendship with Lord Beaconsfield, and from that time the Court was a little less somber than it had been in the years following Albert's death. It was not that I mourned Albert any less; it was not that I did not think of him constantly, but I was taking an interest in certain recreations. I had always been fond of music; it was one of the pleasures which Albert and I had shared.
We were having private theatricals at Osborne in which guests took part. We had tableaux of various subjects, historical pastorals, scenes from operas, and such things. I enjoyed preparing for these so much; they made me feel young again. For the first time since Albert's death, I had players at the castle. They did a lovely performance of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Gondoliers. Later Eleonora Duse performed La Locandiera, and Mr. Tree brought his play The Red Lamp to Balmoral; and to celebrate my seventy-sixth birthday there was a performance of Verdi's Il Trovatore. I found such entertainments so stimulating and enjoyable; and I always thought: How Albert would have appreciated this.
Before this, however, my grandson Eddy—Albert Victor, Bertie's eldest son—had become engaged to Princess May of Teck.
Eddy had never been very bright; his brother George was his superior in learning; but Eddy had been a great favorite of his parents. I think Alexandra loved him especially not only because he was her first-born but because he was backward and he needed her more than the others. But of course all their children adored Alexandra and Bertie.
Eddy had not been very happy in his attachments. He had formed a great affection for his cousin Alicky and that had come to nothing; then he had fallen in love with Lady Sybil St. Clair Erskine—and she was not the only one. In fact poor Eddy had fallen in love frequently but with little success. Then there had been Princess Héléne of Orléans, quite a suitable match that would have been, but we had to remember that as Bertie's eldest son he was destined for the throne, he could not marry a Catholic. There had been certain negotiations but the affair had lapsed.
So now it was such a pleasure to hear that he had become engaged to May. I was very fond of her mother and we had all been so surprised when she married for she was no longer in her first youth then; but it had worked out very well and she had given birth to her capable May. It was a very happy state of affairs.
He had “spoken” to May at a ball at Luton Hoo and been accepted. She was such a nice girl—cheerful and capable—and quite pretty. She was just right for poor Eddy and he was delighted. He had for so long wanted to marry.
May's mother was pleased with the match. It meant that in time May would be Queen, and of course this was greatly approved of by the Cambridge side of the family.
The wedding was to take place on the twenty-seventh of February.
CHRISTMAS HAD PASSED and we were in January when I received a telegram from Sandringham.
Eddy had influenza. Alexandra said he was going on quite well and there was no cause for alarm.
With Beatrice's help I was in the midst of planning eight tableaux which we were going to put on that evening. One that particularly interested me was that of the Empire; and Beatrice was to represent India. She was a little plump for an Indian. They all seemed to be rather thin. The Munshi was very happy directing us and putting us right as he loved to do. I thought Beatrice would be a great success. I was delighted that she was happily married and that I had her and Henry with me—almost always under the same roof. Their dear children were a delight to me. It was such a relief to know that I should keep Beatrice near me.
The tableaux were a great success and the following day there was another telegram from Sandringham. Eddy's influenza had turned to pneumonia. I noticed with dismay that it was the thirteenth of the month; I kept my superstitious dread of the fourteenth; but at least this was not December.
I wondered whether I should go to Sandringham, but there was always such a fuss when I visited and I guessed poor Alexandra would be too frantic to want me there.
On the next day—the fateful fourteenth—another telegram arrived. This one was from Bertie.
“Our darling Eddy has been taken from us.”
How heartbreakingly tragic! There was to have been a wedding and now there would be a funeral.
I WAS VERY sad when after a term of six years, Parliament was dissolved and I was horrified to hear that Gladstone was fighting an election with fire and enthusiasm.
I could not bear it if he were returned. I had had such a long rest from him. If he came back it would be intolerable.
“The idea,” I said to Ponsonby, “of a deluded and excited man of eighty-two trying to govern England and her vast Empire with his miserable democrats is quite ridiculous. It is like a bad joke.”
And it turned out to be as bad as I feared. Although he failed to win the large majority, which he apparently expected, I found myself with Gladstone as Prime Minister for the fourth time.
A few days after the election he came to Osborne to kiss my hand. He was very changed since I had last seen him; not only was he much older, but he walked in a bent way with a stick; his face appeared to have shrunk and he was deathly pale with a weird look in his eyes, a feeble expression about his lips; and even his voice had altered.