While the German wars were going on the Queen was thinking for her country as a sovereign and feeling for her children as a mother. In the midst of all the claims upon her, she had one aim that she never forgot, and that was to make her country understand and appreciate the talents and character of Prince Albert. She concluded to have a book prepared that should tell the story of his life, for she felt that no one who really knew him could fail to honor him. When the first volume was published, even her children were surprised that she should tell matters of her own private life so fully; but she loved and trusted her people, and she was as frank with them as she would have been with an intimate friend.
The year after this book was brought out, the Queen herself became the author of a book, "Our Life in the Highlands." It is made up of extracts from the journal which she always kept. "Simple records," she calls them, but they often give charming pictures of the merry times at Balmoral. Sir Arthur Helps aided her in preparing the book for the press. "He often scolds me," she said, "because I am careless in writing; but how could he expect me to take pains when I wrote late at night, suffering from headache and exhaustion, and in dreadful haste?" She arranged to have Sir Theodore Martin complete the life of the Prince, and she spent much time in arranging her husband\'s papers and letters for him to use. She generally chose the selections to be inserted, and she read every chapter as it was written.
About her own authorship the Queen was very modest, and when she sent a copy of her book to Dickens, she wrote in it, "From the humblest of writers to one of the greatest." At Sir Walter Scott\'s home, she was asked to write her name in his journal; and, although she granted the request, she wrote in her own journal, "I felt it a presumption in me." When Carlyle met her, he said, "It is impossible to imagine a politer little woman; nothing the least imperious, all gentle, all sincere; makes you feel too (if you have any sense in you) that she is Queen."
Her being Queen gave her a peculiar power over the marriages of her children, for they were not legal unless she gave her formal consent. Early in 1871 she was called upon again to exercise her right, for far up in the hills about Balmoral there was a momentous little interview between the Princess Louise and the Marquis of Lorne. "Princess Louise is so bright and jolly to talk with," one of the Scotch boys had said of her when she was a very young girl, and this Scotch Marquis was of exactly the same opinion.
The Queen had guessed before how matters stood with her daughter and the gentleman whom she had once called "such a merry, independent child." The young man had proved his independence by asking for the hand of the Princess, inasmuch as it was three hundred years since a member of the royal family had married a subject, but the Queen paid no attention to tradition. She felt sure that the Marquis would make her daughter happy, and that was enough. Most of her subjects agreed with her; and one of the newspapers said jubilantly, "The old dragon Tradition was routed by a young sorcerer called Love."
The wedding was celebrated at Windsor. It was a brilliant scene, of course, and if all the gentlemen were arrayed as vividly as the Duke of Argyll, the father of the bridegroom, the ladies did not monopolize gorgeousness of attire. The Duke was a Scottish chieftain, and he appeared in Highland dress. His kilt and the plaid thrown over his shoulders were of the gay Campbell tartan. His claymore, a broad two-handed sword, was at his side, and in front there hung from his belt a sporran, or deep pouch made of skin with the hair or fur on the outside. His dirk sparkled with jewels. Altogether he might have stepped out of some resplendent assemblage of the middle ages. After the wedding breakfast, the bride laid aside her white satin and Honiton lace and arrayed herself in a traveling dress of Campbell plaid. The carriage door was closed, and the young couple drove away for Claremont in a little shower of white slippers, accompanied, according to Highland tradition, by a new broom, which was sure to bring happiness to the new household.
The Queen\'s daughters were now in homes of their own except the Princess Beatrice, a merry little girl of fourteen, who had been radiantly happy in her new pink satin at her sister\'s wedding. The Queen was devoted to her children, but it would have been easier for her to pass through the next few years if she had been all sovereign and not woman. War broke out between France and Germany, and both Prince "Fritz" and Prince Louis were in the field. Anxious as she was for them, she was even more troubled for the Princess Alice, who was really in quite as much danger as if she had been in the army. For several years she had been deeply interested in lessening the sufferings of the poor in times of illness; and in providing trained nurses for wounded soldiers. While this war was in progress, she not only went to the hospitals daily, but she brought the wounded men to her own house and cared for them herself. She was exposed over and over again to typhus fever and other diseases, but she seemed to be entirely without fear. One of her friends describes seeing her help to lift a soldier who was very ill of smallpox.
Princess Alice little thought of what value her skill in nursing would be to her own family, but near the end of 1871, the Prince of Wales was taken ill with typhoid fever, and her help was of the utmost value. It was just ten years before that Prince Albert had died of the same disease, and to the anxious Queen every day was an anniversary. She hastened to the home of the Prince at Sandringham, and when she saw how ill he was, she sent at once for the other members of the family. The days passed slowly. One day he seemed a little better, and there was rejoicing, as the telegraph flashed the news not only over England, but to Canada, India, to every part of the world. Then came a day of hopelessness. The Queen mother watched every symptom. "Can you not save him?" she pleaded; and all the physicians could answer was, "You must be prepared for the worst. We fear that the end is near."
Bulletins were sent out to the public every hour or two. All London seemed to tremble with fear and anxiety. Stores were open, but there was little of either buying or selling. Day and night the citizens crowded the streets in front of the newspaper offices. They talked of no one but the Prince.
"He\'s a good boy to his mother," said one, "and she\'ll miss him sorely."
"He\'s living yet, God bless him, and perhaps after all he\'ll mend," declared another of more hopeful spirit.
"Did you ever hear that when he was a little chap and his tutor was going to leave him, the young man couldn\'t go into his room without finding a little present on his pillow or perhaps a note from the little boy saying how much he should miss him?"
"It\'ll kill the Queen," said one man. "The poor woman\'s had all she can bear, and she\'ll never go through this."
"And the Prince\'s boy\'s but eight years old," declared another. "There\'ll be a regent for ten years, and no one can say what harm will come to the country in that time."
So the days passed. The fourteenth of December came, the anniversary of the day on which the Prince Consort had died. The Prince breathed and that was all. The people about the offices were hushed. Everyone dreaded to hear the next message, but when it came, it said "Better." London hardly dared to rejoice, but the Prince continued to gain, and at last the Queen joyfully granted the wish of her people and appointed a Thanksgiving Day. The special service was held at St. Paul\'s Church, and there were many tears of joy when the Queen walked up the nave between the Prince and the Princess of Wales.
After the religious ceremony was over, the guns roared out the delight of the people, and a wild excitement of happiness began. At night St. Paul\'s was illuminated, and everyone was jubilant. The Queen was deeply touched and pleased with the warm sympathy shown by her subjects, and a day or two later she sent a little letter to be published in the papers to tell them how happy they had made her.
Only two days after this letter was written, there was a great alarm, for when the Queen went out to drive a young fellow sprang towards the carriage and aimed a pistol at her. He was seized in a moment and proved to be a half-crazed boy of seventeen whose pistol had neither powder nor bullet. Most of the Queen\'s personal attendants were Highlanders, and one of them, John Brown, had thrown himself between her and what he supposed was the bullet of an assassin. Both the Queen and Prince Albert were always most appreciative of faithful service, and looked upon it as something which money could not buy. She had been thinking of having special medals made to give to her servants who deserved a special reward, and she now gave the first one to John Brown. With the medal went an annuity of $125.
John Brown seemed to have no thought but for the Queen. To serve her and care for her was his one interest. He cared nothing about court manners, and was perhaps the only person in the land who dared to find fault with its sovereign to her face. Statesmen would bow meekly before her, but the Scotchman always spoke his mind. He even ventured to criticise her clothes. The Queen never did care very much for fine raiment, and in her journal where she narrates so minutely as to mention the fact that a glass of water was brought her, she describes her dress merely as "quite thin things." John Brown thought nothing was good enough for his royal mistress. "What\'s that thing ye\'ve got on?" he would demand with most evident disapproval, if a cloak or gown was not up to his notion of what she ought to wear; and this Queen, who knew so well what was due to her position, knew also that honest affection is better than courtly manners, and kept Brown in close attendance. She built several little picnic cottages far up in the hills, where she and some of her children would often go for a few days when they were at Balmoral. There is a story that when she was staying at one of these cottages, she wished to go out to sketch. A table was brought her, but it was too high. The next was too low, and the third was not solid enough to stand firmly. So far John Brown had not interfered, but now he brought back one of the tables and said bluntly, "They canna make one for you up here." The Queen laughed and found that it would answer very well.
One cannot help wondering what Queen Victoria\'s guests thought of her attendant\'s blunt ways, but they must have often envied her his honest devotion. In 1872 and 1873 she had several very interesting visitors. One of them was David Livingstone, the African explorer.
"What do the people in the wilderness ask you?" queried the Queen.
"They ask many questions," he replied, "but perhaps the one I hear oftenest is, \'Is your Queen very rich?\' and when I say \'Yes,\' they ask, \'How rich is she? h............