Queen Victoria Lytton Strachey (a book to read .txt) 📖

essential elements of an idyll are happiness, love and simplicity, an idyll it was; though, indeed, it was of a kind that might have disconcerted Theocritus. “Albert brought in dearest little Pussy,” wrote Her Majesty in her journal, “in such a smart white merino dress trimmed with blue, which Mamma had given her, and a pretty cap, and placed her on my bed, seating himself next to her, and she was very dear and good. And, as my precious, invaluable Albert sat there, and our little Love between us, I felt quite moved with happiness and gratitude to God.”185

The past⁠—the past of only three years since⁠—when she looked back upon it, seemed a thing so remote and alien that she could explain it to herself in no other way than as some kind of delusion⁠—an unfortunate mistake. Turning over an old volume of her diary, she came upon this sentence⁠—“As for ‘the confidence of the Crown,’ God knows! No Minister, no friend, ever possessed it so entirely as this truly excellent Lord Melbourne possesses mine!” A pang shot through her⁠—she seized a pen, and wrote upon the margin⁠—“Reading this again, I cannot forbear remarking what an artificial sort of happiness mine was then, and what a blessing it is I have now in my beloved Husband real and solid happiness, which no Politics, no worldly reverses can change; it could not have lasted long as it was then, for after all, kind and excellent as Lord M. is, and kind as he was to me, it was but in Society that I had amusement, and I was only living on that superficial resource, which I then fancied was happiness! Thank God! for me and others, this is changed, and I know what real happiness is⁠—V. R.”186 How did she know? What is the distinction between happiness that is real and happiness that is felt? So a philosopher⁠—Lord M. himself perhaps⁠—might have inquired. But she was no philosopher, and Lord M. was a phantom, and Albert was beside her, and that was enough.

Happy, certainly, she was; and she wanted everyone to know it. Her letters to King Leopold are sprinkled thick with raptures. “Oh! my dearest uncle, I am sure if you knew how happy, how blessed I feel, and how proud I feel in possessing such a perfect being as my husband⁠ ⁠…” such ecstasies seemed to gush from her pen unceasingly and almost of their own accord.187 When, one day, without thinking, Lady Lyttelton described someone to her as being “as happy as a queen,” and then grew a little confused, “Don’t correct yourself, Lady Lyttelton,” said Her Majesty. “A queen is a very happy woman.”188

But this new happiness was no lotus dream. On the contrary, it was bracing, rather than relaxing. Never before had she felt so acutely the necessity for doing her duty. She worked more methodically than ever at the business of State; she watched over her children with untiring vigilance. She carried on a large correspondence; she was occupied with her farm⁠—her dairy⁠—a whole multitude of household avocations⁠—from morning till night. Her active, eager little body hurrying with quick steps after the long strides of Albert down the corridors and avenues of Windsor,189 seemed the very expression of her spirit. Amid all the softness, the deliciousness of unmixed joy, all the liquescence, the overflowings of inexhaustible sentiment, her native rigidity remained. “A vein of iron,” said Lady Lyttelton, who, as royal governess, had good means of observation, “runs through her most extraordinary character.”190

Sometimes the delightful routine of domestic existence had to be interrupted. It was necessary to exchange Windsor for Buckingham Palace, to open Parliament, or to interview official personages, or, occasionally, to entertain foreign visitors at the Castle. Then the quiet Court put on a sudden magnificence, and sovereigns from over the seas⁠—Louis Philippe, or the King of Prussia, or the King of Saxony⁠—found at Windsor an entertainment that was indeed a royal one. Few spectacles in Europe, it was agreed, produced an effect so imposing as the great Waterloo banqueting hall, crowded with guests in sparkling diamonds and blazing uniforms, the long walls hung with the stately portraits of heroes, and the tables loaded with the gorgeous gold plate of the kings of England.191 But, in that wealth of splendour, the most imposing spectacle of all was the Queen. The little hausfrau, who had spent the day before walking out with her children, inspecting her livestock, practicing shakes at the piano, and filling up her journal with adoring descriptions of her husband, suddenly shone forth, without art, without effort, by a spontaneous and natural transition, the very culmination of Majesty. The Tsar of Russia himself was deeply impressed. Victoria on her side viewed with secret awe the tremendous Nicholas. “A great event and a great compliment his visit certainly is,” she told her uncle, “and the people here are extremely flattered at it. He is certainly a very striking man; still very handsome. His profile is beautiful and his manners most dignified and graceful; extremely civil⁠—quite alarmingly so, as he is so full of attentions and politeness. But the expression of the eyes is formidable and unlike anything I ever saw before.”192 She and Albert and “the good King of Saxony,” who happened to be there at the same time, and whom, she said, “we like much⁠—he is so unassuming⁠—” drew together like tame villatic fowl in the presence of that awful eagle. When he was gone, they compared notes about his face, his unhappiness, and his despotic power over millions. Well! She for her part could not help pitying him, and she thanked God she was Queen of England.193

When the time came for returning some of these visits, the royal pair set forth in their yacht, much to Victoria’s satisfaction.