better you should be quite quiet and not speak. And I beg you will be very

good and obey the doctors." She would see him, she said, "when we, come back
from Osborne, which won't be long." "Everyone is so distressed at your not

being well," she added; and she was, "Ever yours very aff'ly V.R.I." When the
royal letter was given him, the strange old comedian, stretched on his bed of

death, poised it in his hand, appeared to consider deeply, and then whispered
to those about him, "This ought to be read to me by a Privy Councillor."

CHAPTER IX. OLD AGE
I

Meanwhile in Victoria's private life many changes and developments had taken
place. With the marriages of her elder children her family circle widened;

grandchildren appeared; and a multitude of new domestic interests sprang up.
The death of King Leopold in 1865 had removed the predominant figure of the

older generation, and the functions he had performed as the centre and adviser
of a large group of relatives in Germany and in England devolved upon

Victoria. These functions she discharged with unremitting industry, carrying
on an enormouscorrespondence, and following with absorbed interest every

detail in the lives of the ever-ramifying cousinhood. And she tasted to the
full both the joys and the pains of family affection. She took a particular

delight in her grandchildren, to whom she showed an indulgence which their
parents had not always enjoyed, though, even to her grandchildren, she could

be, when the occasion demanded it, severe. The eldest of them, the little
Prince Wilhelm of Prussia, was a remarkably headstrong child; he dared to be

impertinent even to his grandmother; and once, when she told him to bow to a
visitor at Osborne, he disobeyed her outright. This would not do: the order

was sternlyrepeated, and the naughty boy, noticing that his grandmama had
suddenly turned into a most terrifying lady, submitted his will to hers, and

bowed very low indeed.
It would have been well if all the Queen's domestic troubles could have been

got over as easily. Among her more serious distresses was the conduct of the
Prince of Wales. The young man was now independent and married; he had shaken

the parental yoke from his shoulders; he was positivelybeginning to do as he
liked. Victoria was much perturbed, and her worst fears seemed to be justified

when in 1870 he appeared as a witness in a society divorce case. It was clear
that the heir to the throne had been mixing with people of whom she did not at

all approve. What was to be done? She saw that it was not only her son that
was to blame--that it was the whole system of society; and so she despatched a

letter to Mr. Delane, the editor of The Times, asking him if he would
"frequently WRITE articles pointing out the IMMENSE danger and evil of the

wretched frivolity and levity of the views and lives of the Higher Classes."
And five years later Mr. Delane did write an article upon that very subject.

Yet it seemed to have very little effect.
Ah! if only the Higher Classes would learn to live as she lived in the

domestic sobriety of her sanctuary at Balmoral! For more and more did she find
solace and refreshment in her Highland domain; and twice yearly, in the spring

and in the autumn, with a sigh of relief, she set her face northwards, in
spite of the humble protests of Ministers, who murmured vainly in the royal

ears that to transact the affairs of State over an interval of six hundred
miles added considerably to the cares of government. Her ladies, too, felt

occasionally a slight reluctance to set out, for, especially in the early
days, the long pilgrimage was not without its drawbacks. For many years the

Queen's conservatism forbade the continuation of the railway up Deeside, so
that the last stages of the journey had to be accomplished in carriages. But,

after all, carriages had their good points; they were easy, for instance, to
get in and out of, which was an important consideration, for the royal train

remained for long immune from modern conveniences, and when it drew up, on
some border moorland, far from any platform, the highbred dames were obliged

to descend to earth by the perilous foot-board, the only pair of folding steps
being reserved for Her Majesty's saloon. In the days of crinolines such

moments were sometimes awkward; and it was occasionally necessary to summon
Mr. Johnstone, the short and sturdy Manager of the Caledonian Railway, who,

more than once, in a high gale and drenching rain with great difficulty
"pushed up"--as he himself described it--some unlucky Lady Blanche or Lady

Agatha into her compartment. But Victoria cared for none of these things. She
was only intent upon regaining, with the utmostswiftness, her enchanted

Castle, where every spot was charged with memories, where every memory was
sacred, and where life was passed in an incessant and delightful round of

absolutely trivial events.
And it was not only the place that she loved; she was equally attached to "the

simple mountaineers," from whom, she said, "she learnt many a lesson of
resignation and faith." Smith and Grant and Ross and Thompson--she was devoted

to them all; but, beyond the rest, she was devoted to John Brown. The Prince's
gillie had now become the Queen's personal attendant--a body servant from whom

she was never parted, who accompanied her on her drives, waited on her during
the day, and slept in a neighbouring chamber at night. She liked his strength,

his solidity, the sense he gave her of physicalsecurity; she even liked his
rugged manners and his rough unaccommodating speech. She allowed him to take

liberties with her which would have been unthinkable from anybody else. To
bully the Queen, to order her about, to reprimand her--who could dream of

venturing upon such audacities? And yet, when she received such treatment from
John Brown, she positively seemed to enjoy it. The eccentricity appeared to be

extraordinary; but, after all, it is no uncommon thing for an autocratic
dowager to allow some trusted indispensable servant to adopt towards her an

attitude of authority which is jealously forbidden to relatives or friends:
the power of a dependent still remains, by a psychological sleight-of-hand,

one's own power, even when it is exercised over oneself. When Victoria meekly
obeyed the abrupt commands of her henchman to get off her pony or put on her

shawl, was she not displaying, and in the highest degree, the force of her
volition? People might wonder; she could not help that; this was the manner in

which it pleased her to act, and there was an end of it. To have submitted her
judgment to a son or a Minister might have seemed wiser or more natural; but

if she had done so, she instinctively felt, she would indeed have lost her
independence. And yet upon somebody she longed to depend. Her days were heavy

with the long process of domination. As she drove in silence over the moors
she leaned back in the carriage, oppressed and weary; but what a relief--John

Brown was behind on the rumble, and his strong arm would be there for her to
lean upon when she got out.

He had, too, in her mind, a special connection with Albert. In their
expeditions the Prince had always trusted him more than anyone; the gruff,

kind, hairy Scotsman was, she felt, in some mysterious way, a legacy from the
dead. She came to believe at last--or so it appeared--that the spirit of

Albert was nearer when Brown was near. Often, when seeking inspiration over
some complicated question of political or domesticimport, she would gaze with

deep concentration at her late husband's bust. But it was also noticed that
sometimes in such moments of doubt and hesitation Her Majesty's looks would