Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

The Approaching End

I WAS SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS OF AGE AND HAD BEEN ON THE throne for sixty years, which was longer than any monarch had been before—even my mad grandfather George III who had reigned for fiftynine years and ninety-six days.

Everyone wanted a grand celebration. It was a rare occasion.

I agreed to the Diamond Jubilee. I said that I wanted it to show the Empire in all its glory. Its growth had been the outstanding feature of my reign, and I wanted all to know it. All the Prime Ministers of all the Colonies, representatives from India and the dependencies, must be present; and the armed forces should take a prominent part.

It was indeed a great occasion, and one I shall never forget in the years left to me. I wanted as many people to see me as possible and for it to be entirely memorable; I wanted the people to realize that I had worked for them—as well as I was able—for sixty long years; and that their welfare had always been my greatest concern.

It was wonderful to hear the guns in the Park booming to announce the great day. It seems that everyone was out in the streets. The crowds were intense; I hoped there would be no accidents.

I made a circular tour and was moved to tears by the loyal demonstrations of affection.

“She wrought her people lasting good,” said one banner. “Our Hearts Thy Throne,” said another.

What beautiful sentiments!

I was so proud. If Albert could have been beside me my joy would have been complete. He had done so much, not only for me, but for these people; but they did not recognize it. They never would.

I rode with my family around me, with the troops and officials from India, Australia, South Africa, Canada, Cyprus, Hong Kong, and Borneo. All the might of the Empire was displayed there. I hoped my people would realize the greatness of their country and that they would always work together to keep it great.

From Buckingham Palace to St. Paul's for the thanksgiving service; and then I drove over London Bridge to the poorer districts of the capital on the south side of the river. I came back over Westminster Bridge and St. James's Park.

The welcome I was given, the love that was expressed, was so moving. I could scarcely restrain my tears. I was exhausted, but so happy. I had always cared so much for the love of my people and had been most distressed when they had turned against me.

They were with me now.

I was deeply touched and amused when someone in one of the poorer streets cried out: “Go it, old girl.”

I smiled and waved my hand in acknowledgement.

I was delighted at the reception Bertie received; there were cries of “Good old Teddy!” I hoped the scandals of the Mordaunt case and Tranby Croft were all forgotten.

They must be on such a day.

When I returned to the Palace I sent off telegrams to all the people of the Colonies—everywhere—the length and breadth of the Empire.

From my heart I thanked my beloved people. May God bless them.

I was utterly exhausted and yet so happy.

Sixty years! It was indeed a great occasion.

NOW I AM old and tired, and the years are passing by with a speed which leave me bewildered.

A great deal has happened since the Jubilee.

Mr. Gladstone died the following year. His family were all around him at the end and his son Stephen read to him the prayers for the dying. He had been a good man, though I had always disliked him. Both Houses were adjourned immediately and there were tributes to his memory both in the Commons and the Lords.

There was a state funeral and at his lying in state great crowds paid their last respects to the man they had called the People's William. He was buried near the statues of Peel and Lord Beaconsfield.

Great sadness was clouding my days. Terrible events like the Boer War and the Boxer Rising in China against foreigners And there was a tragedy that struck me more personally even than these wicked happenings.

My poor Alfred was suffering from an infection of the throat and I was reminded of Fritz and I greatly feared what this might mean in the end.

How right I was! My dear, dear son! To be robbed of another of my children at the age of eighty-one was cruel indeed.

But I am so old now, so tired, so ready to go.

Sometimes I sit and dream of the past. It is all written down for me to read. Sometimes I beguile myself by slipping back to the old days. How vivid they are! And I think that, looking back, I see myself and others more clearly than I did when those events were taking place. I can see myself as a young and eager girl, with Lehzen and Mama in those days of my youth. How impulsive I had been—how ready to give my warm affections and my hatred.

Albert had changed me. Before he came I had been frivolous, thinking it the height of pleasure to stay up late and dance. I sometimes wonder what I would have been like if Albert had not come into my life. Would I have gone on being that laughter-loving creature? No. My destiny was too serious for that. But Albert had molded me, changed me, made me what I am. I always wanted to be good. That was what I had said when I had first discovered that I might inherit the crown. “I will be good,” I said; and I had meant it. I think that one of my strongest characteristics has always been my honesty.

The people who had played the biggest part in my life and claimed my affection, have all been men: Uncle Leopold, Lord Melbourne, dear Albert, Lord Beaconsfield and John Brown… always men. That is surely significant. I think I am a woman who must be dominated by men. It put me in a somewhat incongruous position because I was higher than anyone else in the land: The Queen, the Sovereign, and they my subjects… every one of them …even Albert.

I have always been of a sentimental nature and perhaps always a little naive, and looking back I wondered whether that clouded my vision a little. Albert had molded me and in my mind the conception of him was the perfect being, the incomparable one. But was he perfect, and had our union been quite that most happy of marriages? Suddenly I was remembering the storms—which always seemed to be my fault, or at least that was how I was sure Albert saw them… and made me see them. But was it always so? Had Albert become the saint since his death—and with that our marriage become the perfect union?

These were disloyal thoughts.

Albert had been perfect. It was I—always I—who was at fault in those little skirmishes between us.

But they had existed. I had forgotten those over the years. I had been jealous because at times I had thought that he cared more for Vicky than for me. I had despised myself for that. But Albert had been jealous of Bertie, because he was the Prince of Wales and stood higher in the land than the Prince Consort could ever be.

Over the years came the sound of Bertie's crying when Albert had beaten him, and although he always said it hurt him more than it hurt Bertie, did it?

I am indeed old. I am getting foolish. How could I ever see Albert as anything but perfect?

If I did, all the years of mourning would lose their poignancy, their meaning.

No, I wanted to suppress those thoughts. Why did they come to me now that I am old and it is all over?

We have moved into a new century. What will it bring forth? I shall never know.

And now it is time for me to lay down my pen.