In May, Prince Albert ran over to Germany to visit his old home, and his new son, and his darling daughter, whom he found well and happy. In one of his letters to the Queen from Gotha, he says: "I enclose a forget-me- not from grandmama's grave."
There is in that simple sentence an exquisite indication of his affectionate and constant nature. This was a hurried visit, with many interests and excitements, and yet the grave of that infirm, deaf, old Dowager Duchess, who had, as practical people say, "outlived her usefulness," was not found "out of the way." There was little need of the dear grandmama calling softly through that tender blue flower— "Vergiss mein nicht, mein Engel Albert!" He never forgot.
In July, the Queen and Prince took to their yacht again, for a visit to the Emperor and Empress, at Cherbourg, and had a grand reception, and there was a great fête, and fireworks and bombs and rockets; but the account is not half so interesting to me as the one given by Her Majesty, of their return to Osborne; an exquisite picture that, which I feel I must reproduce almost entire: … "At twenty minutes to five, we landed at our peaceful Osborne. … The evening was very warm and calm. Dear Affie was on the pier, and we found all the other children, including Baby, standing at the door. Deckel (a favorite dog), and our new charming kennel-bred Dachs 'Boy,' also received us with joy." I like that bringing in of the dogs to complete the-picture.
The Queen continues: "We went to see Affie's (Alfred's) table of birthday presents—entirely nautical. … We went with the children, Alice and I driving, to the Swiss Cottage, which was all decked out with flags in honor of Affie's birthday. … I sat (at dinner) between Albert and Affie. The two little boys (Princes Arthur and Leopold) appeared. A band played, and after dinner we danced, with the three boys and three girls, a merry country dance on the terrace."
A little later, the Queen and Prince made a visit to their daughter in Germany. Her Majesty's description of the happy meeting is very sweet. "There on the platform stood our darling child, with a nosegay in her hand. She stepped in, and long and warm, was the embrace. … So much to say and to tell and ask, yet so unaltered—looking well—quite the old Vicky still."
From beautiful Babelsberg, she wrote: "Vicky came and sat with me. I felt as if she were my own again."
This was not a long, but a very happy visit; the Queen and Prince had received many courteous attentions from the Prussian Court, and had found their beloved daughter proud and content. From Osborne, in a letter to his daughter, the Prince-Consort writes: "Alfred looks very nice and handsome in his new naval cadet's uniform—the round-jacket and the long- tailed coat, with the broad knife by his side." The next month the Prince went to Spithead, to see this son off on a two-years' cruise—and felt that his family had indeed begun to break up. The next exciting public matter was the news of Louis Napoleon's alliance with King Victor Emmanuel in the war against Austria. And this was the Emperor who, had given out that his empire was "peace"—that the only clang of arms henceforth to be heard therein would be a mighty beating of swords and spears into plow-shares and pruning-hooks. The next domestic excitement was caused by a telegram from Berlin, announcing the birth of a son to the Crown Prince and Princess, and that mother and child were doing well. Queen Victoria was a grandmother, and prouder, I doubt not, than when afterwards she was made Empress of India.
For her mother's birthday, in May, 1859, the Crown Princess came over and made a delightful little visit. The Queen wrote of her: "Dear Vicky is a charming companion." Of the Princess Alice she had before written: "She is very good, sensible and amiable, and a real comfort to me." Mothers know how much there is in those words—"a real comfort to me." The Crown Princess found most change in baby—Beatrice—and after her return home, her father often wrote to her of this little sister: "The little aunt," he says, "makes daily progress, and is really too comical. When she tumbles, she calls out, in bewilderment, 'She don't like it! She don't like it!'—and she-came into breakfast a short time ago, with her eyes full of tears, moaning, 'Baby has been so naughty,—poor baby so naughty!' as one might complain of being ill, or of having slept badly." Later in the year the Prince writes: "Alice comes out admirably, and is a great support to her mother. Lenchen (the Princess Helena) is very distinguished, and little Arthur amiable and full of promise as ever."
In November, Prince Frederick William and his Princess came over on a visit—and the fond father wrote: "Vicky has developed greatly of late— and yet remains quite a child; of such, indeed, 'is the kingdom of heaven.'" Of the Prince he said: "He has quite delighted us." So all was right then. About this time he said of his daughter, Alice, that she had become "a handsome young woman, of graceful form and presence, and is a help and stay to us all in the house." What a rich inheritance such praise!
In the Queen's diary there was, on July 24, 1860, an interesting entry: "Soon after we sat down to breakfast came a telegram from Fritz—Vicky had got a daughter, at 8:10, and both doing well! What joy! Children jumping about, every one delighted—so thankful and relieved."