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

in the Cabinet, but revealed to her the part taken in its discussions by individual members of it.351 Lord Derby, the son of the late Prime Minister and Disraeli’s Foreign Secretary, viewed these developments with grave mistrust. “Is there not,” he ventured to write to his Chief, “just a risk of encouraging her in too large ideas of her personal power, and too great indifference to what the public expects? I only ask; it is for you to judge.”352

As for Victoria, she accepted everything⁠—compliments, flatteries, Elizabethan prerogatives⁠—without a single qualm. After the long gloom of her bereavement, after the chill of the Gladstonian discipline, she expanded to the rays of Disraeli’s devotion like a flower in the sun. The change in her situation was indeed miraculous. No longer was she obliged to puzzle for hours over the complicated details of business, for now she had only to ask Mr. Disraeli for an explanation, and he would give it her in the most concise, in the most amusing, way. No longer was she worried by alarming novelties; no longer was she put out at finding herself treated, by a reverential gentleman in high collars, as if she were some embodied precedent, with a recondite knowledge of Greek. And her deliverer was surely the most fascinating of men. The strain of charlatanism, which had unconsciously captivated her in Napoleon III, exercised the same enchanting effect in the case of Disraeli. Like a dram-drinker, whose ordinary life is passed in dull sobriety, her unsophisticated intelligence gulped down his rococo allurements with peculiar zest. She became intoxicated, entranced. Believing all that he told her of herself, she completely regained the self-confidence which had been slipping away from her throughout the dark period that followed Albert’s death. She swelled with a new elation, while he, conjuring up before her wonderful Oriental visions, dazzled her eyes with an imperial grandeur of which she had only dimly dreamed. Under the compelling influence, her very demeanour altered. Her short, stout figure, with its folds of black velvet, its muslin streamers, its heavy pearls at the heavy neck, assumed an almost menacing air. In her countenance, from which the charm of youth had long since vanished, and which had not yet been softened by age, the traces of grief, of disappointment, and of displeasure were still visible, but they were overlaid by looks of arrogance and sharp lines of peremptory hauteur. Only, when Mr. Disraeli appeared, the expression changed in an instant, and the forbidding visage became charged with smiles.353 For him she would do anything. Yielding to his encouragements, she began to emerge from her seclusion; she appeared in London in semi-state, at hospitals and concerts; she opened Parliament; she reviewed troops and distributed medals at Aldershot.354 But such public signs of favour were trivial in comparison with her private attentions. During his hours of audience, she could hardly restrain her excitement and delight. “I can only describe my reception,” he wrote to a friend on one occasion, “by telling you that I really thought she was going to embrace me. She was wreathed with smiles, and, as she tattled, glided about the room like a bird.”355 In his absence, she talked of him perpetually, and there was a note of unusual vehemence in her solicitude for his health. “John Manners,” Disraeli told Lady Bradford, “who has just come from Osborne, says that the Faery only talked of one subject, and that was her Primo. According to him, it was her gracious opinion that the Government should make my health a Cabinet question. Dear John seemed quite surprised at what she said; but you are used to these ebullitions.”356 She often sent him presents; an illustrated album arrived for him regularly from Windsor on Christmas Day.357 But her most valued gifts were the bunches of spring flowers which, gathered by herself and her ladies in the woods at Osborne, marked in an especial manner the warmth and tenderness of her sentiments. Among these it was, he declared, the primroses that he loved the best. They were, he said, “the ambassadors of Spring, the gems and jewels of Nature.” He liked them, he assured her, “so much better for their being wild; they seem an offering from the Fauns and Dryads of Osborne.” “They show,” he told her, “that your Majesty’s sceptre has touched the enchanted Isle.” He sat at dinner with heaped-up bowls of them on every side, and told his guests that “they were all sent to me this morning by the Queen from Osborne, as she knows it is my favorite flower.”358

As time went on, and as it became clearer and clearer that the Faery’s thraldom was complete, his protestations grew steadily more highly⁠—coloured and more unabashed. At last he ventured to import into his blandishments a strain of adoration that was almost avowedly romantic. In phrases of baroque convolution, he conveyed the message of his heart. “The pressure of business,” he wrote, had “so absorbed and exhausted him, that towards the hour of post he has not had clearness of mind, and vigour of pen, adequate to convey his thoughts and facts to the most loved and illustrious being, who deigns to consider them.”359 She sent him some primroses, and he replied that he could “truly say they are ‘more precious than rubies,’ coming, as they do, and at such a moment, from a Sovereign whom he adores.”360 She sent him snowdrops, and his sentiment overflowed into poetry. “Yesterday eve,” he wrote, “there appeared, in Whitehall Gardens, a delicate-looking case, with a royal superscription, which, when he opened, he thought, at first, that your Majesty had graciously bestowed upon him the stars of your Majesty’s principal orders.” And, indeed, he was so impressed with this graceful illusion, that, having a banquet, where there were many stars