Chapter VI: Death Of Friends—Days At Balmoral. (1861-1884)

Itaque veræ amicitiæ difficillime reperiuntur in iis qui in
honoribus reque publica versantur.—CICERO.

True friendships are hard to find among men who busy themselves
about politics and office.

I

Within a few months of one another, three of Mr. Gladstone’s closest friends and allies were lost to him. Lord Aberdeen died at the end of 1860. The letter written by Mr. Gladstone to the son of his veteran chief is long, but it deserves reproduction.(64) As a writer, though an alert and most strenuous disputant, he was apt to be diffuse and abstract. Partly, these defects were due to the subjects with which, in his literary performances, he mostly chose to deal. Perhaps one secret was that he forgot the famous word of Quintilian, that the way to write well is not to write quickly, but if you take trouble to write well, in time you can write as quickly as you like.(65) His character of Lord Aberdeen, like his beautiful letter in a similar vein about Hope-Scott,(66) where also his feelings were deeply moved, is very different from his more formal manner, and may claim high place among our literary portraits. It is penetrating in analysis, admirable in diction, rich in experience of life and human nature, and truly inspiring in those noble moralities that are the lifeblood of style, and of greater things than mere style can ever be.

Then, in the autumn of 1861, both Graham and Sidney Herbert died; the former the most esteemed and valued of all his counsellors; the latter, so prematurely cut off, “that beautiful and sunny spirit,” as he called him, perhaps the best beloved of all his friends. “Called on Gladstone,” says Phillimore on this last occasion (Aug. 3); “found him at breakfast alone; very glad to see me. His eyes filled with tears all the time he spoke to me in a broken voice about his departed friend. The effect upon him has been very striking, increased no doubt by recent political differences of opinion.” “It is difficult to speak of Herbert,” Mr. Gladstone said later, “because with that singular harmony and singular variety of gifts—every gift of person, every gift of position, every gift of character with which it pleased Providence to bless him—he was one of whom we may well recite words that the great poet of this country has applied to a prince of our early history, cut off by death earlier than his countrymen would have desired:—

“A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Framed in the prodigality of nature,
The spacious world cannot again afford.”(67)

The void thus left was never filled. Of Graham he wrote to the Duchess of Sutherland:—

_Oct. 26._—This most sad and unexpected news from Netherby rises
up between me and your letter, I have lost a friend whom I seem to
appreciate the more because the world appreciated him so
inadequately; his intellectual force could not be denied, but I
have never known a person who had such signal virtues that were so
little understood. The remainder of my political career be it what
it may (and I trust not over long) will be passed in the House of
Commons without one old friend who is _both_ political and
personal. This is the gradual withdrawal of the props preparing
for what is to follow. Let me not, however, seem to complain, for
never, I believe, was any one blessed so entirely beyond his
deserts in the especial and capital article of friendships.

Not many months later (June 1862) he had to write to Mr. Gordon, “We are all sorely smitten by Canning’s death,” whose fame, he said, would “bear the scrutinising judgment of posterity, under whose keen eye so many illusions are doomed to fade away.”(68)

(M30) In the December of 1861 died the Prince Consort. His last communication to Mr. Gladstone was a letter (Nov. 19) proposing to recommend him as an elder brother of the Trinity House in place of Graham. Of Mr. Gladstone’s first interview with the Queen after her bereavement, Dean Wellesley wrote to him that she was greatly touched by his evidence of sympathy. “She saw how much you felt for her, and the mind of a person in such deep affliction is keenly sensitive and observant. Of all her ministers, she seemed to me to think that you had most entered into her sorrows, and she dwelt especially upon the manner in which you had parted from her.” To the Duchess of Sutherland Mr. Gladstone writes:—

_March 20, 1862._—I find I must go out at four exactly. In any
case I do not like to trust to chance your knowing or not knowing
what befell me yesterday. Your advice was excellent. I was really
bewildered, but that all vanished when the Queen came in and kept
my hand a moment. All was beautiful, simple, noble, touching to
the very last degree. It was a meeting, for me, to be remembered.
I need only report the first and last words of the personal part
of the conversation. The first (after a quarter of an hour upon
affairs) was (putting down her head and struggling) “the nation
has been very good to me in my time of sorrow”; and the last, “I
earnestly pray it may be long before you are parted from one
another.”(69)

In the spring he took occasion at Manchester to pronounce a fine panegyric on the Prince,(70) for which the Queen thanked him in a letter of passionate desolation, too sacred in the anguish of its emotion to be printed here. “Every source of interest or pleasure,” she concludes, “causes now the acutest pain. Mrs. Gladstone, who, the Queen knows, is a most tender wife, may in a faint manner picture to herself what the Queen suffers.” Mr. Gladstone replies:—

It may not be impertinent in him to assure your Majesty that all
the words to which your Majesty refers were received with deep
emotion by the whole of a very large assembly, who appeared to
feel both your Majesty’s too conspicuous affliction, and the
solemnity of its relation to the severe and, alas! darkening
circumstances of the district.(71)

In presuming to touch upon that relation, and in following the
direction which his subject gave him towards very sacred ground,
he was especially desirous to avoid using even a phrase or a word
of exaggeration, and likewise to speak only as one who had seen
your Majesty’s great sorrow in no other way than as all your
Majesty’s subjects beheld it.

In speaking thus he knew that he must fall short of the truth; and
indeed, even were it becoming to make the attempt, he would in
vain labour to convey the impression made upon his mind by the
interview to which he was admitted at Windsor, and by the letter
now in his hands.

More follows in the vein and on the topics that are usual in letters of mourning sympathy, and the effect was what the writer sought. From Balmoral came a note (May 6, 1862): “The Queen wishes Princess Alice to thank Mr. Gladstone in her name for the kind letter he wrote to her the other day, which did her aching heart good. Kind words soothe, but nothing can lessen or alleviate the weight of sorrow she has to bear.”

Many years later he sat down to place on record his thoughts about the Prince Consort, but did not proceed beyond a scanty fragment, which I will here transcribe:—

My praise will be impartial: for he did not fascinate, or command,
or attract me through any medium but that of judgment and
conscience. There was, I think, a want of freedom, nature, and
movement in his demeanour, due partly to a faculty and habit of
reflection that never intermitted, partly to an inexorable
watchfulness over all he did and said, which produced something
that was related to stillness and dullness in a manner which was
notwithstanding, invariably modest, frank, and kind, even to one
who had no claims upon him for the particular exhibition of such
qualities. Perhaps I had better first disburden myself of what I
have to set down against him. I do not think he was a man without
prejudices, and this particularly in religion. His views of the
church of Rome must, I think, have been illiberal. At any rate, I
well remember a conversation with him at Windsor respecting the
papal decree imposing the belief in the immaculate conception,
somewhere about the time when it came forth. He said he was glad
of it, as it would tend to expose and explode the whole system. I
contended, with a freedom which he always seemed to encourage,
that we all had an interest in the well being and well doing,
absolute or relative, of that great Christian communion, and that
whatever indicated or increased the predominance of the worse
influences within her pale over the better was a thing we ought
much to deplore. No assent, even qualified, was to be got.(72)

The death of the Prince Consort was a greater personal calamity to Mr. Gladstone than he could then foresee. Perhaps the disadvantage was almost as real as the death of the consort of King George II. to Sir Robert Walpole. Much as they might differ in political and religious opinion, yet in seriousness, conscience, and laborious temperament, the Prince and he were in exact accord, and it is impossible to doubt that if the Prince had survived at the Queen’s right hand, certain jars might have been avoided that made many difficulties for the minister in later times.

II

I may as well here gather into a chapter some short pieces, mainly from letters to Mrs. Gladstone during the period covered by this fifth book. The most interesting of them, perhaps, are the little pictures of his life as minister in attendance at Balmoral; but there are, besides, two or three hints of a simplicity in his faculty of enjoyment in regions outside of graver things, that may shock critics of more complex or fastidious judgment. Readers will benevolently take them all as they come. He made a curious entry in his diary upon his birthday at the end of 1860: “_’Dec. 29._ Began my fifty-second year. I cannot believe it. I feel within me the rebellious unspoken word, I will not be old. The horizon enlarges, the sky shifts, around me. It is an age of shocks; a discipline so strong, so manifold, so rapid and whirling that only when it is at an end, if then, can I hope to comprehend it.” Yet nearly all the most conspicuous scenes still lay before him.

_October 18, 1860._—I did not get to the play last night from
finding _The Woman in White_ so very interesting. It has no dull
parts, and is far better sustained than _Adam Bede_, though I do
not know if it rises quite as high. The character drawing is
excellent.

_Downing Street, Dec. 15._—The chancellor says (keep this from
view) that Prince Albert said to him at Windsor: “We Germans have
no boundaries; our only boundary is the Quadrilateral,” _i.e._
fortress in the heart of Italy. This, I fear, must be true, and,
if so, is sad enough, because he evidently spoke his mind out
unsuspiciously.

_Dec. 18._—I actually went last night five mortal miles to Hoxton
to see “Eily O’Connor,” the Colleen Bawn in another shape! It was
not without interest, though very inferior, and imitated in some
cases with a ludicrous closeness. The theatre is a poor working
man’s theatre. I paid 1s. for a very aristocratic place. To-night
I am going with Phillimore to the Westminster play, a Latin one,
which I am afraid is rather long.

_Jan. 18, 1861._—I write a few lines to you in the train, near
Harrow. We shall not be in till four; all safe; and immense care
evidently taken on account of the frost, though I do not feel it
much in the air. I have had other matters to keep me warm. Among
the letters given me this morning at Hawarden was one from Lord
John, in which he quietly informs me that since the cabinet
separated _he_ has agreed to guarantee a loan, and for Morocco!
This I mean to resist, and have managed to write a letter in the
carriage to tell him so. What will come of it, I do not know. It
is a very serious affair. I am afraid he has committed himself
egregiously. I am very bad now; but what _shall_ I be at
sixty-eight?

_Jan. 19._—Indeed, this is a strange world. Yesterday it seemed
Lord J. Russell might go out, or more likely I might, or even the
cabinet might go to pieces. To-day he writes to me that he
supposes he must find a way out of his proposal! So that is over.

_Jan. 23._—You seem to have taken great pains about stable
affairs, and I am quite satisfied. The truth indeed, alas, is, I
am not fit at this critical time to give any thought to such
matters. The embarrassment of our vast public expenditure,
together with the ill effects of the bad harvest, are so thick
upon me, together with the arrangements for next year and the
preparation of my own bills for improvements, which, though a
laborious, are a healthy and delightful part of my work.

_Jan. 24._—I expect Argyll to share my mutton to-night, and we
shall, I dare say, have a comfortable talk. Last night I saw
Herbert. I think he looks much better. He did not open the subject
of estimates, nor did I, before _her_, but I told him what I am
sorry to say is true, that the prospects of revenue grow much
worse. Up to a certain point, I must certainly make a stand. But I
think he is rather frightened about expenditure, and not so
panic-stricken about France; so that we may come together.

_Jan. 25._—I write from the cabinet. I am in the midst of a deadly
struggle about the estimates; the only comfort this year is, that
I think the conflict will be more with the navy than the army.
Herbert has told me to-day, with a simplicity and absence of
egotism, which one could not but remark in his graceful character,
the nature of his complaint. You will quickly guess. As to
cabinets, Lord John says we had better meet frequently, and it
will be on Tuesday _if_ I am able to come down next week, but this
is full of uncertainty. I hear that the Prince is _wild_ about the
Danish question.

_Jan. 26._—Another cabinet on Monday. It is just possible they may
relax after that day. I have had two long days of hard fighting.
By dint of what, after all, might be called threat of resignation,
I have got the navy estimates a little down, and I am now _in_ the
battle about the army. About the reduction in the navy, Palmerston
criticised, Lord John protested, and Cardwell! I think went
farther than either. Never on any single occasion since this
government was formed has his voice been raised in the cabinet for
economy. What a misfortune it is that Herbert has no nerve to
speak out even in a private conversation. He told me yesterday of
his reduction, but did not tell me that more than half of it was
purely nominal! The article in the _Quarterly_ is clever; and what
it says, moreover, on the merits of the income-tax is true. I
suspect, I might say I fear, it is written by Northcote.

_Feb. 5._—Yesterday, in the carriage from Kidderminster, I heard
in part a dialogue, of which I gathered so much. _First worthy_,
“I suppose we shall have to pay twopence or threepence more
income-tax.” _Second worthy_, “Gladstone seems to be a totally
incompetent man.” _Third_, “Then he always wraps himself in such
mystery. But now I do not see what else he can do; he has cut away
the ground from under his feet”—with a growl about the
conservative party. Such is the public opinion of Worcestershire
beyond all doubt.

_Hawarden, May 24._—The house looks cleanliness itself, and
altogether being down here in the fresh air, and seeing nature all
round me so busy with her work so beneficent and beautiful, makes
me very sick of London and its wrathful politics, and wish that we
were all here, or hereabouts once more.

_July 20._—The political storm has blown over, but I do not think
it seems an evening for riding to Holly House, nor can I honestly
say that a party there would be a relaxation for my weary bones,
and wearier nerves and brain.

_Aug. 4._—I have been at All Saints this morning. Though London is
empty, as they say, it was absolutely crammed. Richards preached
an excellent sermon. But I certainly should not wish to be an
habitual attendant there. The intention of the service is most
devout, but I am far from liking wholly the mode of execution. My
neighbour in church whispered to me, “Is the Bishop of London’s
jurisdiction acknowledged here?” I think he seemed to wish it
should not be.

_Oct. 22._—Tell Harry [his son] he is right, Latin is difficult,
and it is in great part because it is difficult that it is useful.
Suppose lie wanted to make himself a good jumper; how would he do
it? By trying _first_, indeed, what was easy, but after that
always what was difficult enough to make him exert himself to the
uttermost. If he kept to the easy jumps, he would never improve.
But the jumps that are at first difficult by and bye become easy.
So the Latin lessons, which he now finds difficult, he will find
easy when once his mind has been improved and strengthened by
those very lessons. See if he understands this.

_Dec. 29._—The strangest feeling of all in me is a rebellion (I
know not what else to call it) against growing old.

_Cliveden, Maidenhead, Jan. 14, 1862._—I have written to John [his
brother], and if he is in town I shall go up and see him tomorrow.
Meantime I have mentioned Locock, as recommended by you. I fear
the dark cloud is slowly gathering over him [his wife’s illness],
as we have seen it lately gather over so many and then break. I am
amazed at the mercy of God towards us, and towards me in
particular. I think of all the children, and of their health in
body and in mind. It seems as if it could not last; but this is
all in God’s hand.

Here are the Argylls, Lady Blantyre and a heap of young. We have
been busy reading translations of Homer this morning, including
some of mine, which are approved. Tennyson has written most noble
lines on the Prince. Lord Palmerston is reported well.

_Jan. 18._—I lifted Hayward last night back from dinner. He is
full of the doctrine that Lord Palmerston is not to last another
year. Johnny is then to succeed, and I to lead (as he says by the
universal admission of the whigs) in the H. of C. It is rather
hard before the death thus to divide the inheritance. But that we
may not be too vain, it is attended with this further
announcement, that when that event occurs, the government is
shortly to break down.

_Cabinet Room, Feb. 1._—The cabinet has gone well.(73) It is
rather amusing. I am driving the screw; Lewis yields point by
point. I think in substance the question is ruled in my favour.
Thank God for the prospect of peace; but it will not positively be
settled till Monday. Lewis’s last dying speech, ’Well, we will see
what can be done.’

_Bowden, Wilts., Feb. 19._—The funeral is over [the wife of his
brother]. Nothing could be better ordered in point of taste and
feeling. It was one of the most touching, I think the most
touching, scene I ever witnessed, when the six daughters weeping
profusely knelt around the grave, and amidst their sobs and tears
just faltered out the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer in the
service. John, sensible of his duty of supporting others, went
through it all with great fortitude. On the whole, I must say I
can wish no more for any family, than that when the stroke of
bereavement comes, they meet it as it has been met here.

_Nov. 18._—I have sat an hour with Lord Lyndhurst. He is much
_older_ than when I saw him last, but still has pith and life in
him, as well as that astonishing freshness of mind which gives him
a charm in its way quite unrivalled. He was very kind, and what is
more, he showed, I think, a seriousness of tone which has been
missed before.

Last night I saw “Lord Dundreary.” I think it—the part and the
player, not the play—quite admirable. It is a thoroughly refined
piece of acting, such as we hardly ever see in England; and it
combines with refinement intense fun. My face became with laughing
like what Falstaff says he will make Prince Henry’s face, “like a
wet cloak ill laid up”(74) (_Phillimore_).

_Windsor Castle, Dec. 10._—Here I am with six candles blazing! of
which I shall put out a larger proportion when no longer afraid of
a visit from the great people about the passages. I got your
letter this morning, but I am amazed at your thinking I have the
pluck to ask the Princess of Wales! or the Queen!!! about
photographs promised or not promised.

In came the Dean; after that, a summons to the Queen, with whom I
have been an hour. She is well in health and in spirits, and when
she speaks of the Prince does it with a free, natural, and healthy
tone, that is most pleasing. I am to see the Prince of Wales after
dinner. I now therefore make sure of leaving to-morrow. The Queen
asked kindly about you, and I saw little Princess Beatrice.

III

_Aug. 31, 1863._—Walked 24-3/4 miles. Found it rather too much for
my stiffening limbs. My day of long stretches is, I think, gone
by.

_Balmoral, Sept. 26._—This place is on the whole very beautiful
and satisfactory; and Deeside at large has lost for me none of its
charms, with its black-green fir and grey rock, and its boundless
ranges of heather still almost in full bloom. The Queen spends a
good many hours out, and looks well, but older. I had a long
conversation or audience to-day, but as regards the form and mode
of life here, so far as I see, it does not differ for visitors
from Windsor. All meals and rooms are separate, but sometimes, it
appears, some are invited to dine with the Queen. The household
circle is smaller here than at Windsor, and so less formal and
dull. I doubt your doctrine about your message, but I will give it
if a good opportunity occurs. She talked very pleasantly and well
upon many matters public and other—(Do not go on reading this
aloud or give it to others). As to politics, she talked most of
America and Germany; also some Lancashire distress. She feels an
immense interest in Germany, her recollections of the Prince’s
sentiments being in that, as in other matters, a barometer to
govern her sympathies and affections. She said (when I hoped she
had received benefit from the air here) that she thought she had
been better in Germany than anywhere, though it was excessively
hot. She asked where I had been, and about our living at Hawarden,
and where it was. I told her I thought she had been there, at
least driving through from Eaton (was it not so?) when she was
Princess, and at last she seemed to remember it, and said it was
thirty-one years ago. Princess Alice has got a black boy here who
was given to her, and he produces a great sensation on the
Deeside, where the people never saw anything of the kind and
cannot conceive it. A woman, and an intelligent one, cried out in
amazement on seeing him, and said she would certainly have fallen
down but for the Queen’s presence. She said nothing would induce
her to wash his clothes _as the black would come off_! This story
the Queen told me in good spirits.

She said that some people after heavy bereavement disliked seeing
those whom they had known well before, and who reminded them of
what had been, but with her it was exactly the opposite; it was
the greatest effort and pain to her to see any one who had [not]
known _them_ before, and their mode of living. As an instance, she
said it cost her much to see the Emperor of Austria, whom the
Prince had never known. Evidently this clinging to things old will
form itself into a habit, but I am afraid it may hereafter, when
more have died off, be a matter of difficulty to her. It is
impossible to help seeing that she mistrusts Lord Russell’s
judgment in foreign affairs, indeed I have already had clear proof
of this. She likes Lord Palmerston’s better; thinks he looks very
old, and will not allow that it is all owing to an accident. But
dinner is drawing near, so good-bye. We have had a good day, and
have been up to the pyramid put on a hill-top as a memorial to the
Prince, with the beautiful inscription.

_Sept. 27._—I do not think Sunday is the best of days here. I in
vain inquired with care about episcopal services; there did not
seem to be one within fifteen miles, if indeed so near. We had
something between family prayer and a service in the dining-room
at ten; it lasted about forty minutes. Dr. Caird gave a short
discourse, good in material, though over florid in style for my
taste. The rest of the day I have had to myself. The Prince and
Princess of Hesse I think went to the parish church. You are
better off at Penmaenmawr.... I saw the two princes last night.
They were playing billiards. The Prince of Wales asked
particularly, as always, about you and Willy.

_Sept. 28._—I must be brief as I have been out riding with Sir C.
and Miss Phipps to Alt-na-Guisach (the Queen’s cottage), and came
in _late_. Be assured all is very comfortable and restful here. I
think too that I feel the air very invigorating, my room is
pleasant and cheerful on the ground floor, with a turret
dressing-room. ... I am pretty much master of my time. To-day I
have heard nothing of the Queen. Last evening I was summoned to
dine, as was Lady Churchill. It was extremely interesting. We were
but seven in all, and anything more beautifully domestic than the
Queen and her family it was impossible to conceive. The five were
her Majesty, Prince and Princess Louis, Prince Alfred, and
Princess Helena. Princess Louis (whom the Queen in speaking of
still calls Princess Alice) asked about you all. I had the
pleasure of hearing the good report of Lucy altogether confirmed
from her lips and _the Queen’s_. The Queen thinks her like her
dear mother. She talked about many things and persons; among
others the Lyttelton family, and asked about the boys _seriatim_,
but pulled me up at once when, in a fit of momentary oblivion, I
said the New Zealander was the third. She spoke of the chancellor
and of Roundell Palmer; I had a good opportunity of speaking him
_up_, and found she had his book of hymns. She spoke very freely
about the chancellor; and I heard from her that the
attorney-general resigns on the score of health—of course Palmer
succeeds. Prince Alfred is going to Edinburgh to study; he is a
smart fellow, and has plenty of go in him.

_Sept. 29._—I have just come in at 6-½ from a fine hill walk of
over three hours, quite ready for another were there light and
opportunity.

_Sept. 30._—I am come in from a nineteen mile walk to the Lake of
Lochnagar with Dr. Bekker, as fresh as a lark! Very wet. The Queen
sent me a message not to go up Lochnagar (top) if there was mist;
and mist there was, with rain to boot. I find the resemblance to
Snowdon rather striking. It is 3800 feet; we went up about 3300.
You forgot to tell me for what pious object you picked Lord P.’s
pocket. Nor do you distinctly tell me where to address, but as you
say three nights I suppose it should be Penmaenmawr. Last night we
went down to Abergeldie to the gillies’ ball. There was a dance
called the perpetual jig, nearly the best fun I ever witnessed.
The princes danced with great activity after deer-stalking, and
very well; Prince Alfred I thought beautifully. They were
immensely amused at having passed me on the way home and offered
me a lift, to which I replied (it was dark) thinking they were
General Grey and a household party. The Princess did not
dance—asked about you—is taking great care, and the Prince very
strict about it also. She does not ride or fatigue herself. The
event, according to Dr. Jenner, should take place in March or
early in April. You see his authority and yours are at variance.
The Queen was (according to Mrs. Bruce, who dined with her) very
low last night, on account of the ball, which naturally recalled
so much.

_Oct. 3._—It happened oddly yesterday I was sent for while out. I
had had a message from the Queen in the morning which made me
think there would be no more, so I went out at a quarter past
three. I am very sorry this happened. I am to see her, I believe,
this evening.

_Oct. 4._—The service at Ballater has made a great difference in
favour of this Sunday. It was celebrated in the Free Kirk
school-room for girls! and with a congregation under twenty, most
attentive though very small, and no one left the room when we came
to the Holy Communion. The Knollys family and people were one half
or so. I gave Mrs. Knollys and one daughter a lift in _my_ drag
back to Birkhall (2-½ miles which they all loyally walk to and
fro) and had luncheon there. I had Thomas with me. The sermon was
_extremely_ good; but the priest had a _few_ antics. I believe
this is about the first expedition ever made from Balmoral to an
episcopal service. Perhaps encouraged by my example, Captain W.
got a drag to Castleton this morning, being a Roman. There was
_no_ chaplain here to-day, and so no dining-room service, which
for many I fear means no service at all.

I dined with the Queen again last night; also Lady Augusta
Bruce—seven, again, in all. The Crown Princess had a headache, as
well she might, so they were not there. The same royalties as
before, and everything quite as pleasing. The Queen talked
Shakespeare, Scott, the use of the German language in England (and
there I could not speak out _all_ my mind), Guizot’s translation
of the Prince’s speeches, and his preface (which the Queen has
since sent me to look at), the children’s play at Windsor (when
Princess Alice acted a high priest, with great success—in
“Athalie,” I think), the Prussian children (the Queen says the
baby is not pretty—the little boy on coming yesterday called them
all stumpfnase, pugnose), handwritings, Lord Palmerston’s to wit,
Mr. Disraeli’s style in his letters to the Queen, the proper mode
of writing, on what paper, etc., and _great_ laudation of Lady
Lyttelton’s letters. Princess Alice declares her baby is pretty,
and says she shall show it me. The Queen was very cheerful, and
seemed for the time happy. A statue of the Prince is about to be
set up at Aberdeen, and she is then to attend and receive an
address, with Sir G. Grey present in due form. The household life
is really very agreeable when one comes to know them. One way and
another they have a great deal in them.

_Oct. 5._—I have been riding to Invercauld House and up above it.
The beauty there even surpassed my high expectations, and made
everything here look quite pale in comparison. They were very
kind, and offered me deer-stalking; we drank tea and ate scones.

I have only time to tell you two things. First, the Queen is on
Friday to do her first public act, to attend at the ’inauguration’
of the statue of the Prince, and to receive an address. I am to be
there officially. I have telegraphed for my uniform. I go on to
Aberdeen and Trinity College at night, and on Saturday evening to
Edinburgh. There was fear that it might be on Saturday, and that I
should be kept, but this could not be, as Saturday is a ’fast’ for
the periodical sacrament on Sunday. I told you the Queen talked
about German on Saturday at dinner, among other things Schiller’s
and Coleridge’s _Wallenstein_. Next morning she sent me, through
Lady A. Bruce, the book, with a passage of which I have hastily
translated the most important part. It is easy to conceive how it
answers to her feelings.

“Too well I know the treasure I have lost.
From off my life the bloom is swept away;
It lies before me cold and colourless;
For he, that stood beside me like my youth,
He charmed reality into a dream,
And over all the common face of things
He shed the golden glow of morning’s blush;
And in the fire of his affection
Dull forms, that throng the life of every day,
Yea to mine own amazement, tow’red aloft.
Win what I may henceforth, the Beautiful
Is gone, and gone without return.”(75)

You will say this was an opening. In reading another part of the
book I found lines which I have turned as follows, no better than
the others:—

“For nothing other than a noble aim
Up from its depths can stir humanity;
The narrow circle narrows, too, the mind,
And man grows greater as his ends are great.”(76)

Now, I thought, can I in reply call the Queen’s attention to these
significant words, a noble sermon? I asked Lady Augusta (of course
I mean the German words) and she would not venture it. Had I a
_viva voce_ chance, I would try.

_Oct. 6._—I am sorry you quitted Penmaenmawr in the sulks—I mean
him in the sulks, not you. Your exploit was great; was it not
rather over-great? I have been out to-day for a real good seven
hours in the open air, going up Lochnagar. The day was glorious.
We went five gentlemen, at least men. E. H. was keen to go, but
the Queen would not let her. Thomas also went up with a party from
here, and his _raptures_ are such as would do you good. He says
there is nothing it was not worth, and he has no words to describe
his pleasure. Our party drove to Loch Muich, and then went up,
some of us on ponies, some riding. I walked it all, and am not in
the least tired, but quite ready, if there were need, to set out
for it again. We saw towards the north as far as Caithness. I
could not do all that the others did in looking down the
precipices, but I managed a little. We had a very steep side to
come down, covered with snow and very slippery; I was put to it,
and had to come very slow, but Lord C. Fitzroy, like a good
Samaritan, kept me company. The day was as lovely (after frost and
snow in the night) as anything could be, and the whole is voted a
great success. Well, there is a cabinet fixed for Tuesday; on the
whole, this may be better than having it hang over one’s head.

_Oct. 7._—The Queen’s talk last night (only think, she wants to
read the French Jesuit—don’t know this) was about Guizot’s
comparison of the Prince and King William, about Macaulay, America
and the ironclads, where she was very national and high-spirited;
and Schleswig-Holstein, in which she is intensely interested,
because the Prince thought it a great case of justice on the side
rather opposite to that of Lord Palmerston and the government
policy. She spoke about this with intense earnestness, and said
she considered it a legacy from him.

Princess Alice’s baby lives above me, and I believe never cries. I
never hear it. We have been out riding to Birkhall to-day, and I
had much talk with Lady Churchill about the Queen. She (Lady C.)
feels and speaks most properly about her. I told Lady Augusta last
night, _à propos_ to the lines I wanted to mention, that I had
been a great coward, _and she too_. She was very submissive at
dinner in her manner to the Queen, and I told her it made me feel
I had been so impudent. Only think of this: both through her and
through General Grey it has come round to me that the Queen thinks
she was too cheerful on the night I last dined. This she feels a
kind of sin. She said, however, to Lady Augusta she was sure I
should understand it.... I am very glad and a little surprised
that Mrs. Bruce should say I have a good name here. The people
are, one and all, very easy to get on with, and Windsor, I
suppose, stiffens them a little.

_Oct. 8._—The Queen has had a most providential escape. The
carriage, a sociable, very low and safe, was overturned last night
after dark, on her way back from an expedition of seven or eight
hours. Princesses Louis of Hesse and Helena were with her. They
were undermost, and not at all hurt. The Queen was shot out of the
carriage, and received a contusion on the temple and sprained a
thumb. When she got in, I think near ten o’clock, Dr. Jenner
wished her to go to bed, but she said it was of no use, and she
would not. She was very confident, however, about performing the
duties of the ceremonial in Aberdeen to-morrow. But now this
evening it is given up, and I do not doubt this is wise, but much
inconvenience will be caused by so late a postponement. I have
been up to the place to-day.... The Queen should give up these
drives after dark; it is impossible to guarantee them. But she
says she feels the hours from her drive to dinner such weary
hours.

Little Princess Victoria paid me a visit in my bedroom, which is
also sitting-room, to-day. She is of sweet temper, decidedly
pretty, very like both the Queen and her mother. Then I went to
see the three Prussian children, and the two elder ones played
with my rusty old stick of twenty or twenty-five years’ standing.

_Holyrood, Oct. 11._—On Friday morning, as I expected, I talked to
the Queen until the last moment. She did give me opportunities
which might have led on to anything, but want of time hustled me,
and though I spoke abruptly enough, and did not find myself timid,
yet I could [not] manage it at all to my satisfaction. She said
the one purpose of her life was gone, and she could not help
wishing the accident had ended it. This is hardly qualified by
another thing which she said to Lady Churchill, that she should
not like to have died in that way. She went on to speak of her
life as likely to be short. I told her that she would not give
way, that duty would sustain her (this she quite recognised), that
her burden was altogether peculiar, but the honour was in
proportion, that no one could wonder at her feeling the present,
which is near, but that the reward is _there_, though distant....
Then about politics, which will keep. She rowed me for writing to
Lord Palmerston about her accident, and said, “But, dear Mr.
Gladstone, that was quite wrong.” The secret is kept wonderfully,
and you must keep it. I hinted that it would be a very bad thing
to have G. Grey away from such a cabinet on Tuesday, but all I
could get was that I might arrange for any other minister (some
one there certainly ought to be). I lectured her a little for
driving after dark in such a country, but she said all her habits
were formed on the Prince’s wishes and directions, and she could
not alter them.

_Hawarden, Dec. 29._—I am well _past half_ a century. My life has
not been inactive. But of what kind has been its activity?
Inwardly I feel it to be open to this general observation: it
seems to have been and to be a series of efforts to be and to do
what is beyond my natural force. This of itself is not
condemnation, though it is a spectacle effectually humbling when I
see that I have not according to Schiller’s figure enlarged with
the circle in which I live and move. [_Diary._]

IV

_Jan. 2, 1864._—The cabinet was on matters of great importance
connected with Denmark, and has decided rightly to seek the
co-operation of France and other powers before talking about the
use, in any event, of force.(77) Lord Palmerston has gout sharply
in the hand. The Queen wrote a letter, which I think did her great
credit. Her love of truth and wish to do right prevent all
prejudices from effectually warping her.

The Queen talked much about the Danish question, and is very
desirous of a more staid and quiet foreign policy. For the first
time I think she takes a just credit to herself for having
influenced beneficially the course of policy and of affairs in the
late controversy.

_Balmoral, Sept. 28._—I thought the Queen’s state of health and
spirits last night very satisfactory. She looks better, more like
what she used to look, and the spirits were very even; with the
little references to the Prince just as usual. Whenever she quotes
an opinion of the Prince, she looks upon the question as
completely shut up by it, for herself and all the world. Prince
Alfred is going to Germany for nine weeks—to study at Bonn, and to
be more or less at Coburg. The Queen asked for you, of course. She
has not said a syllable about public affairs to me since I came,
but talked pleasantly of all manner of things.

_Sept. 29._—The Queen sent to offer a day’s deer-stalking, but I
am loth to trust my long eyesight.

_Oct. 2._—At dinner last night there was a great deal of
conversation, and to-day I have been near an hour with the Queen
after coming back from Ballater. She was as good and as gracious
as possible. I can hardly tell you all the things talked
about—Prince Humbert, Garibaldi, Lady Lyttelton, the Hagley boys,
Lucy, smoking, dress, fashion, Prince Alfred, his establishment
and future plans, Prince of Wales’s visit to Denmark, revenue,
Lancashire, foreign policy, the newspaper press, the habits of the
present generation, young men, young married ladies, clubs,
Clarendon’s journey, the Prince Consort on dress and fashion,
Prince of Wales on ditto, Sir R. Peel, F. Peel, Mrs. Stonor, the
rest of that family, misreading foreign names and words, repute of
English people abroad, happy absence of foreign office disputes
and quarrels.

_Oct. 3._—I am just in from a sixteen mile walk, quite fresh, and
pleased with myself! for having in my old age walked a measured
mile in twelve minutes by the side of this beautiful Dee.

_Oct. 7._—I have just come in from a delightful twenty-five miles
ride with General Grey and another companion. I had another long
interview with the Queen to-day. She talked most, and very freely
and confidentially, about the Prince of Wales; also about Lord
Russell and Lord Palmerston, and about Granville and Clarendon,
the latter perhaps to an effect that will a little surprise you.
Also the Dean of Windsor. It was a kind of farewell audience.