I said to him, “You and I are much lamer than we used to be, Mr. Gladstone.” And that was as far as I could go. I could not show friendship for a man I could never like. He should know better than to cling to office. The people admired him for some reason; I supposed it was all that walking about at night which intrigued them. I doubted he did it now.
I wished I need not accept him, but of course I had to. He was the chosen of the people. But they did not show tremendous enthusiasm for him and I doubted that, with his small majority, he would get his will. He had an obsession about Ireland and was working hard to bring in Home Rule. I did not think he had a chance of getting through with it with his tiny majority.
He did, however, get it through the Commons, but it was thrown out of the Lords. I was delighted at that and I hoped it was the last we would hear of Home Rule for Ireland.
When one gets old the days seem to race by. One emerges from one into another and in no time a year has passed.
Poor Alexandra could not get over Eddy's death but I think when George became engaged to Princess May she felt a little happier. We all liked May so much, and it seemed right that, having lost one brother, she should take the other.
The wedding took place in the July of that year '93; the heat was great and poor Alexandra looked rather drawn. I think she could not stop herself thinking that it might have been Eddy who stood there with May instead of George.
But George was a good boy—so much more stable than Eddy had been. I felt sure that May would find a husband more to her liking in George than she would have done in Eddy.
I enjoyed the wedding very much, but it was marred by one incident. Mr. Gladstone actually had the temerity to come into my tent! I suppose he thought it was a Prime Minister's right. And not only did he enter but he sat down! I said, “What does he think this is? A public tent?”
I was glad on that occasion to meet Nicholas the Tsarevitch who was an extremely charming young man and bore a striking resemblance to the bridegroom.
Soon after the wedding, Albert's brother Ernest died. This did not affect me very deeply because I had always been aware of his unworthiness and it had amazed me that two brothers could be so different. I had never ceased to thank the fates for giving me Albert instead of Ernest. I did take credit, of course, for my own judgment in choosing Albert for I could have had either. How fortunate I was to have chosen the saint instead of the sinner.
His death meant that Alfred inherited the Duchy of Saxe-Coburg, and almost immediately he was leaving to take up his position in his father's native land.
Dear Rosenau! I promised myself that I would visit Alfred there—but those visits were always such poignant mingling of pleasure in being in such perfect surroundings, and sorrow of having memories of Albert brought back to me more vividly than ever.
Sometimes life flows on evenly and peacefully, but there are periods when events of great importance follow fast on one another. 1894 was one of those years.
In March Mr. Gladstone came to see me at Osborne and told me he thought he was too old to continue. I quite agreed with him and could not hide my pleasure. I knew that I must have betrayed it to him for I heard that in reporting the interview he said, “She was at the height of her cheerfulness when I told her.”
Perhaps I should have been kinder to the old man; but I was never one to pretend to have, or not to have, affection for those about me.
His Cabinet was quite emotional when he told them of his intention to retire; he himself was unmoved; he made his last speech to the Commons in which he urged them to do battle with the House of Lords; he was still obsessed by the Home Rule Bill.
He came to me—I was at Windsor then—to tender his official resignation. He was eighty-four and almost blind, with cataracts in both eyes. I asked him to sit, which he did. We talked awhile but I had never had anything much to say to him. I was glad when he left, and then I realized that I had not uttered the conventional thanks for his years of honorable service. I simply could not. I did not think he had done a great deal of good for the country. He was against all that Lord Beaconsfield—and I— had stood for. He would have liked to diminish the mighty Empire which it had so delighted Lord Beaconsfield to build. Good, one might think him, if one took a kindly view of all those wanderings in the night; but good men do not always make the best Prime Ministers.
When I sent for Lord Rosebery and invited him to become Prime Minister he came rather reluctantly. He turned out to be rather weak in the beginning and sent out appeals to his colleagues to support him— and, of course, after the manner of rival politicians, they did not.
It was really the end of Gladstone's Liberals. The country was not ripe for that sort of policy. The most wild proposals were put forth for the Home Rule for Ireland, “mending or ending” the House of Lords, and the disestablishment of the Church in Wales, and even a veto on liquor sales.
Rosebery could not have continued in office without the support of the Irish members, and when he rashly declaimed that there would be no Home Rule for Ireland unless the majority of members for the English constituencies were in favor of it, support fell away from him. He had more or less let it be known that the Home Rule Bill was postponed indefinitely.
I despised him for his weakness. I did not think he was enjoying his role. After all, he had not exactly taken it with alacrity. He suffered from sleepless nights; he had influenza, and the by-elections were going against him. He had only been in office for about a year when he handed in his resignation.
Parliament was dissolved and to my great pleasure the Conservatives were returned and Lord Salisbury came to see me. I had a new Prime Minister and a dear friend.
ANOTHER EVENT AT that time was Alicky's engagement to the Tsarevitch Nicholas of Russia. Although I was suspicious of the Russians I did realize what a great match this was for Alicky—one of my very favorite grandchildren. She was a beautiful girl, clever and sensible … and my dear Alice's daughter, which in itself endeared her to me. In the space of three weeks the dear girl became a wife and Empress, for the Tsar died and Nicholas had stepped into his place taking my darling Alicky with him.
No one could deny it was a brilliant marriage.
Another matter for rejoicing was the birth of a son to George and May, which caused great excitement among the people who marveled that I had a great grandchild. I did not think it was so wonderful. If Alicky had not refused Eddy in '89, I might have had one four years before.
Still, it was good to know that the people were pleased.
We must not expect life to go on too smoothly and I did not, but I was unprepared for the terrible tragedy that overtook us. Henry of Battenburg had left us to go with the expedition to Ashanti. I had not wanted him to go. One of my great comforts was to have him and Beatrice under my roof; they and their dear children had been a great solace to me during the last years and again and again it had been brought home to me what a wise decision it was to bring Henry to England and let him and Beatrice marry.
I believe Henry was looking for adventure. He probably thought that life spent between Osborne, Windsor, and Buckingham Palace somewhat uneventful; however, he had this urge to go and unselfish Beatrice had not stood in his way. I told him he would never be able to endure the climate but that had no effect on him.
Just after he had left a very disturbing incident arose. There was trouble in South Africa where President Kruger was continually stirring up strife. He believed that the Boers should have control of the country. I did not trust the man and believed that we should have real trouble sooner or later.