Виктория Холт - The Widow of Windsor

With such a son, and a husband whom she feared to be dying, poor Vicky was in great distress.

She wrote to her mother and begged her to send her an English doctor who was known throughout the world to be an authority on cancer. This was Dr Morell Mackenzie. The German doctors wished to operate. Vicky felt this would be fatal and she hoped Dr Mackenzie would disagree with their verdict.

The Queen immediately sent Dr Mackenzie to Germany. To Vicky’s delight he said that Fritz was not suffering from cancer and he thought he might be cured with the right treatment.

‘Oh, Mama, it is such a relief,’ wrote Vicky.

Poor child, thought the Queen; and she was glad that Fritz would be able to attend the Jubilee.

* * *

The 20th of June 1887. She awoke early. She read through her Journal and remembered that long-ago day – one of the most important in her life, some would say the most important, but her wedding day would always be first with her. Mama had come into her bedroom carrying a candlestick to awaken her and she had known immediately. How young she had been – how inexperienced! Eighteen years old and to be a Queen. Lehzen had been there with smelling salts, she remembered; and even then she had scorned the idea. She had meant to be a Queen.

Dear Lord Melbourne had been there to sustain her; she shed a tear for Lord Melbourne. So godlike he had seemed until Albert came along and showed her how weak, how ineffectual all men were compared with Albert.

And now she had been fifty years a Queen.

She thought: And I am alone to celebrate it, for although I have my children I have always been alone since the loss of that dear beloved one.

As she rose, the sun shone brilliantly and she breakfasted out of doors and afterwards drove to the station. Crowds cheered her all the way. The royal train was waiting to take her to Paddington Station; and once more loyal crowds shouted their approval as she rode through the Park to Buckingham Palace.

The streets were already decorated for the great tomorrow. That day she received the visiting royalty and there was a grand dinner-party for the crowned heads of Europe, most of whom had close family ties with the Queen.

She retired early in readiness for the great day.

* * *

How magnificent it was! Tears filled her eyes because Albert was not there to share it with her. The thousands who lined the streets shouted their loyal greetings as she came into sight in her open carriage drawn by six magnificent cream-coloured horses; she had especially wanted to be escorted by Indian cavalry, not only as a compliment to her new subjects but also to remind people of the greatness of her Empire.

Behind her rode Bertie, Alfred and Arthur. Alas, there was one son missing, dear Leopold. One thought of these sad losses at such a time. All her sons-in-law were there. It was a great joy that dear Fritz had not been absent as she had feared he might. It was true he could scarcely speak; that fearful affliction of the throat prevented that; but he looked magnificent. How proud Albert would have been to see Germany represented in such a manner and to know the little German States were now one mighty Empire and Vicky would one day be Empress. The German Eagle on Fritz’s helmet brought a frenzy of cheering from the crowd. For the Germans! thought the Queen when she heard it and knew for whom it was intended. They knew how to show their might. All her grandsons were there, including of course Wilhelm, of whom Vicky had complained so bitterly. He would be feeling gratified at the cheers for his father.

What an impressive moment it was when she walked into the Abbey to the sound of a march by Handel! And of course Albert’s own composition must be included in the ceremony; on that she had insisted. He could not be with her in the flesh but his music should be there; the choir sang the anthem which he had written and her eyes were glazed with tears as she listened.

My dearest Albert, how different everything would have been had you been spared to me! she thought. Everything else I could have borne if you had been with me.

But he had been taken and she had her children. Then she thought of Alice and Leopold, the lost ones, and how sad it was that they so young should be gone and she an old woman still here. Then all the grandchildren. How proud Albert would have been of them!

Her bonnet – made of lace and glittering with diamonds – shook a little. She had insisted on bonnets for all the women including herself, although many were shocked at the idea and thought she should have worn the crown. But she had said it should be a bonnet and she was the Queen and if she could not always have her way in State matters, she would over a matter of bonnets.

She felt tired but elated when they returned to the Palace; but of course this was not the end. The great entertainment was about to begin.

She was helped into her dress embroidered with jewels, representing England, Scotland and Ireland, roses, thistles and shamrocks – and then to the great banqueting hall to receive all the visiting royalties and the many guests who had come from all over the world to celebrate her fifty years as Queen.

At last the long day was over and she sank gratefully into bed; but not to sleep, to brood on the past fifty years and through her mind paraded the significant figures of the past – the Uncle Kings, George and William; dear kind Aunt Adelaide; Mama with whom there had been such storms; the well-beloved Lord Melbourne; the at first hated and afterwards deeply respected Sir Robert Peel; dear exciting Mr Disraeli; the heartily disliked Mr Gladstone – still not escaped from, she feared; good faithful John Brown; all her living children – and those dear dead ones; the grandchildren; the family by marriage. So many of them dominated always by the one great figure: Albert.

Oh, Albert, if you had lived to see this day, she kept telling herself, how different everything would have been!

Her Golden Jubilee – fifty years since that long ago June day when they awakened her from her bed; and nearly twenty-seven years since she had lost her love, and therefore her zest for living. And she still mourned him. His was the face that came to her whenever she thought of the past.

‘Albert,’ she cried on this great night, as she had cried so often during the last twenty-six years, ‘why were you taken from me?’

A few months later there was grave news from Berlin. Dr Mackenzie now agreed with the German doctors that the Crown Prince was suffering from cancer of the throat. He was in great pain; his voice had disappeared completely, and death was imminent.

Vicky was heartbroken. Fritz had been the bulwark between herself and her German family and the German people. They had never liked her; her mother-in-law had given her the room in the Schloss next to the haunted chamber and had tried to unnerve her with grisly accounts of spectres; when she arrived she had been obliged to ride in an icy wind through the streets of Berlin wearing only a flimsy evening dress; there had been hostile shouts in the streets; and she had never been allowed to forget that she was a foreigner. This had been galling to proud and clever Vicky. There had been wars which had brought about conflict in the family. Alix – and she carried Bertie with her – had hated the Prussians since the Schleswig-Holstein war. Life had been very difficult; but never so as now with her kind, easy-going husband dying and Wilhelm, the heir, strutting, haughty, hardly deigning to notice his mother. And without the protection of Fritz she would be exposed to her enemies.

There was a further development. The old Emperor clearly could not live long; and there were rumours that he might die before Fritz; both were doomed men. There was one who viewed this situation with the utmost complacence: Wilhelm, who on the death of his grandfather and father would be the Emperor of Germany.

The Queen discussed the matter with Bertie and told him how sad she felt for Vicky, who was clearly distraught. Bertie said that the idea of that arrogant young coxcomb, his nephew Wilhelm, becoming an Emperor was more than he could stand; he hoped he never again had to see the arrogant young puppy.

‘He was a great favourite of dearest Papa and that is something I can never forget,’ said the Queen.

‘Dearest Papa did not live long enough to know what a grandson he had. Otherwise he might not have been quite so fond of Wilhelm.’

‘There was his poor arm,’ said the Queen tolerantly. ‘I am sure that has been very difficult to contend with.’

‘Vicky did everything she could for him. He could at least be grateful, but he treats her abominably. And do you know, Mama, I believe he has designs on England.’

‘Designs on England! Good gracious, Bertie, whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean he would like to oust me … us … from the throne.’

‘Oust us from the throne.’ All the Queen’s Majesty descended upon her. Bertie thought: She may think she likes to live in seclusion; she may imply that she would gladly relinquish her crown; but just try suggesting it! ‘Why, Bertie, I never heard such nonsense.’

‘But, Mama, Wilhelm has become so arrogant that he is capable of thinking such nonsense. I sent him a kilt and everything that goes with it in Royal Stuart tartan. He asked for it because he said he wanted to wear it at a fancy-dress ball. And do you know, Mama, he had the temerity to have a photograph taken in it and wrote underneath it: “I bide my time.” This he had distributed widely.’