“The lady was very much admired in several quarters.”

Sir Henry had the same sort of wit as Lord Melbourne had had. He liked to make sly little remarks. I believed Bertie had been involved with that shameless creature.

And these were the sort of men I was expected to have as my Prime Minister to take the place of Lord Beaconsfield!

They both declined to take on the premiership and most tactfully reminded me that there was one man whom the people wanted.

I had to wrestle with myself. Of course my threat to abdicate had not been serious. How could it be? I knew what was my duty. I tried to think what Albert would have done.

I knew, of course. There was only one thing I could do. I sent for Mr. Gladstone.

He came humbly enough, trying, I knew, to please me. He kissed my hand, but I could not enforce any warmth into my manner.

So I had lost my dear friend and in his place was William Gladstone.


* * *

GLADSTONE'S MINISTRY DIRECTED its efforts to bringing an end to those wars that had been raging in Afghanistan and South Africa at the time of the election. Our troops were defeated at Maiwand and I was afraid that the new government would meekly accept the disaster and not try to regain our prestige as Lord Beaconsfield would have undoubtedly done. I was delighted therefore when Sir Frederick Roberts brought Afghanistan to submission by marching on Kandahar and installing a new emir who professed friendship for us.

When the Boer War broke out and General Colley died in the defeat of Majuba Hill, I was afraid that the government would take no action. I recommended Sir Frederick Roberts for the chief command of the Transvaal. But what was the use? The government pursued its “peace at any price” policy and in the negotiations gave way to the enemy.

I was deeply angry. If only Lord Beaconsfield had been at the head of affairs how different everything would be. When the soldiers came back I visited them and gave new colors to the Berkshire Regiment who had lost theirs at Maiwand. I wanted my soldiers to know how much I appreciated them and that I understood the sacrifices they made for their country.

I was horrified to learn that Sir Charles Dilke had been given the post of Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs in the government. I would never forget how he had fulminated against me and that he was in favor of abolishing the Monarchy. How could such a man be permitted to take part in the government?

If that were not bad enough I discovered that he had become a member of Bertie's circle. I thought that not only disloyal but foolish. When I remonstrated with Bertie he said that he mixed with all sorts of people and that it was the best way of discovering what was being said and thought. I supposed there was something in that but I should certainly not receive Dilke.

There was one sad fact that obsessed me at the time. Lord Beaconsfield became ill. He had been growing feebler since he took his place in the House of Lords and, indeed, I think he only accepted the peerage because he found the House of Commons demanded too much of him.

When I heard that he had taken to his bed at Hughenden, I wrote to him commanding him to send me word of his progress. He wrote back so charmingly that my letters did him so much good and that he immediately felt better on reading them. He said it was very cold at Hughenden and he found it difficult to keep his old bones warm.

In March he managed to come up to his place in Curzon Street. I was delighted because I thought that was a good sign.

I sent him primroses from Osborne and he wrote back to tell me that they cheered him.

It was April. He had not been out for three weeks and when I did not hear from him it occurred to me that he was too ill to write.

I would go to see this dear old friend. I would command him to get well. I could not lose any more of those I loved. But before I could go I heard that he had died.

His last words were, “I am not afraid to die, but I would rather live.” Dear Lord Beaconsfield!

He had wanted to be buried in Hughenden church beside Mary Anne. I could not bear to be present—my grief was too intense—so I sent Bertie and Leopold to represent me. They took the primroses I wanted to be laid on the coffin. I wrote a card that was attached to them, “His favorite flower.”

I knew, of course, that they were so because I had sent them to him.

I had lost a beloved friend whose one thought was the honor and glory of his country and unswerving devotion to the crown. His death was a national calamity and my sorrow was great and lasting.

Although it was his wish that he should be buried at Hughenden, I ordered that a monument should be set up to him in Westminster Abbey.

Four days after the funeral, Beatrice and I went to Hughenden and I laid a wreath of white camellias on his coffin, which lay in the open vault in the churchyard. I wanted everyone to know how much I had loved and honored this man; and the following year I had a tablet set up in the church on which were the words:

To the dear and honored memory of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of


Beaconsfield, this memorial is placed by his grateful and affectionate


Sovereign Victoria R.I.


“Kings love him that speakest right.” Proverbs XVI 13.

February 27th 1882.

It seemed to me that death was in the air—a most depressing thought. I had recently heard of the assassination of Tsar Alexander, the father of Alfred's wife, and soon after that President Garfield of the United States met a similar end.

But before that there was trouble with Egypt when the Khedive's war minister Arabi Pasha brought about a successful coup and overthrew the Khedive. Egyptian finance was in chaos; France was involved with us but refused to reinstate the Khedive so we had to go ahead single-handed.

I was delighted when we had a decisive victory. I was at Balmoral at the time and ordered that a bonfire should be lighted at the top of Craig Gowan.

But of course I remembered the feeling of my “peace at any price” government and once again I mourned Lord Beaconsfield and wished with all my heart that he was beside me so that we could enforce the strong policies in which we had both so fervently believed.


* * *

I WAS ASTONISHED when Leopold came to me and told me that he planned to marry. I had thought he never would. We had always been so watchful of him ever since we discovered he was cursed with that dreadful disease, hemophilia.

He was so careless of himself, which I supposed was natural. He could not be expected to lead a completely sheltered life; after all he was a normal healthy young man in every other respect.

I had heard rumors of his attraction to a certain young woman who was making a stir in London. This was largely due to Bertie. But it was Leopold, so it was rumored, who had seen her first.

She was a certain Mrs. Langtry, the daughter of the Dean of Jersey, who had married a Mr. Langtry. They would not have moved in very exalted circles but it seemed the woman was exceptionally beautiful, had been noticed by a nobleman, and was asked to his house.

There, Leopold had seen her and apparently fallen in love with her. Alas for Leopold, Bertie saw her picture, wanted to meet her, and then decided she was for him.

Such was Leopold's nature, and Bertie's too, that this did not result in any ill feeling between them. Bertie pursued Mrs. Langtry, was seen everywhere with her, and Leopold shrugged his shoulders and decided to take a trip on the Continent.

There he met Princess Helen Frederica Augusta, daughter of the Prince of Waldeck Pyrmont, and decided he wished to marry her.

When I heard I was horrified—not by the thought of whom he had chosen, but because he was contemplating marriage. I feared he was not strong enough. I had lost my dear Alice and that had made my children who were left to me doubly precious; and because of Leopold's weakness I was afraid.

I discussed the matter with Bertie who thought that Leopold must marry if he wished to.

“Do you understand the nature of this terrible thing from which he is suffering?” I demanded.

“I know that if he bleeds he is in danger. But you have to let him live, Mama. He is just as well married as single.”

Of course he was right. I was being fatalistic. Whatever was coming I must be prepared for it.

So Leopold was betrothed and created Duke of Albany.


* * *

I WAS ON my way to Windsor Castle and had left the train and taken my place in the carriage, which was waiting for me at the station. The horses were just about to move forward when I heard a loud report, then a scuffle, and Brown, white-faced and anxious, was at the window.

“A man has just fired at your carriage,” he said.

I felt quite ill. This was the seventh shock of this nature that I had had in my life. I should be used to it, but one never is.

“I'm taking ye on to the castle the noo,” said Brown. “I'll soon have ye there.”

Later I learned exactly what had happened. Two boys from Eton School had been in the little group of people near the carriage. They had seen a man lift his hand with the pistol in it, directed straight at the carriage. One of them had knocked it out of the man's hand with his umbrella while the other had hit the assailant with his. Then they had seized him and clung to him until he was arrested.

This was a really serious attempt for the pistol had been loaded.