Censoring Queen Victoria (7 page)

Dreams can have many interpretations. A literal interpretation of this one might be that the King was George V and the Queen was Mary, and the narrative a fantastic conflation of the many meetings Benson had recently had with them. It could also be, however, that the King represents Edward VII ordering Benson to ‘look inside' Queen Victoria – which he did, metaphorically, by selecting Benson to read her letters. That Benson should dream of King Edward having an ‘unfathomable' mouth and Victoria one that was royal purple yet ‘enamelled' – and thus impermeable and unrevealing – might convey something of what he felt as editor.

The dream might also reflect Arthur's paradoxical view of himself: he was socially eligible to be invited to dine with the King and Queen but was offered a side table, alone; he was recognised as a writer but was not important enough to be left undisturbed; he was intimate with monarchs, yet even with assistance he could perceive very little and produced no significant insights from the experience, merely a platitudinous remark.

Just prior to this dream, Benson had been commissioned by George V and Mary to write
The Book of the Queen's Doll's House
, explaining and promoting the elaborate creation (designed
by the architect Edwin Lutyens and completed in 1924, this miniature house was furnished in immaculately realistic fashion by leading British craftsmen, complete with flushing toilets and electric lights). Arthur thought the whole scheme ‘ineradicably silly', but it was his first royal commission for a long time and he did not refuse it. He recognised that in frequenting royal circles, he had been given rare opportunities. Similarly, in editing Queen Victoria's letters, he was given a unique chance to gain an intimate view of royal life. He was anxious that he should produce something special, a work that would be hailed with more enthusiasm than that bland climax of his dream: ‘It's very remarkable.'

B
OTH
B
ENSON AND ESHER
came to the project as published authors, but their ideas about how their work should proceed differed significantly.

Esher was familiar with some of the published and unpublished correspondence of the Queen from researching his books
Footprints of Statesmen
(1892) and
The Yoke of Empire
(1896). Meanwhile Benson's experience as a biographer, and his conversations with other writers at the Athenaeum Club and at Cambridge, made him aware of the many challenges involved in archival work. When the eminent historian George Prothero told him that there were many letters from Victoria to Lord Panmure (a minister in the government of Lord Melbourne) in private hands, it occurred to him that the letters in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle might only be a small portion of the Queen's words. Although there was a tradition that letters from the monarch should be returned upon the death of the recipient, many were retained as family treasures. Benson may even have remembered some held by his own family. He knew there must be many more throughout Britain, Europe and the Empire.

With this in mind, Benson suggested tentatively to Esher that
perhaps some efforts should be made to locate and inspect such letters. Benson wanted to present as much of the Queen's character and personality as possible, more so than Esher. Esher apparently rejected the suggestion, which provoked a spirited defence from Benson.

Eton

Sept 17, 1903

My dear Esher,

Many thanks for your letter. Of course it would be absolutely impossible for direct application to be made, as from the King, to the holders of the letters, thus risking a refusal. But I should have thought that a notice in the papers couched in general terms would have avoided that contingency, and at the same time given the possessors of interesting and valuable letters the chance of putting them at the disposal of the Editors. The notice I mean might run as from you or even myself and say that the Editors would be much obliged if anyone possessing letters or papers bearing directly upon the period would communicate with &c …

It would be a great pity if people who were
willing
to lend interesting documents – and there must be many in existence – were not invited to do so. I do not myself see any strong objection to this course. It commits no one to anything, it is in no way undignified and it risks nothing while at the same time it gives possessors of valuable documents a chance of putting them at our disposal.

It also safeguards those who are responsible from the criticism of incompleteness which may be made if no opportunity is given to people, who would have been quite willing to do so, to send in such documents. But I say all this
merely from the point of view of a biographer, who is anxious to let all possible material [be admitted] – and I would add that the national and historical importance of the book justifies even
more
care than usual in this respect.

But I need hardly say that I shall entirely acquiesce in the wisdom of whatever the King decided.

Ever yours,

Arthur Benson

Benson's diary entry concerning this incident moved from a tone of confession, to rage, then self-consolation:

I have made a small
faux pas
by suggesting that we should insert a notice to ask for letters. Of course it is the only thing to do if you want to get a good biography – but he [the King] won't hear of it, says Esher … the idiotic pomposity of monarchs! I must not forget that Esher though very pleasant & a real friend to me, will not hesitate to sacrifice me & throw me over at any moment. He cannot play except for his own hand; & I may be quite sure that if there are any disagreeable responsibilities to take or any harsh things to say, I shall be represented as saying them – I don't think I mind.

On the same day, he wrote again to Esher: ‘I quite understand. My suggestion was made simply from the point of view of a professional biographer, anxious to lay hands on all available material. But I quite realise that there are other considerations of counterbalancing importance.' Despite such humiliations, Benson kept testing the boundaries, usually without success.

Benson expected the work to commence promptly, but Esher
appeared to be in no hurry. The new school year had started at Eton and Benson felt his unemployment keenly. By October 1903, in order to move things along a little, Benson asked Esher to organise a visit to the Round Tower at Windsor Castle, where many of the papers were housed. From his first visit he was fascinated. Already it looked to be ‘an enormous collection' but he was dismayed to see ‘a great deal of German'. He was instantly seduced by the sentimental and historical associations of the material – ‘Fancy all the love letters to the Prince Consort in one volume' – and by the setting of the Round Tower. On this same visit he and Esher chose workrooms and furniture, and then Esher took Benson to see the Prince Consort's bedroom – ‘all his things – uniforms, walking sticks, the bed he died in; which the Queen kept in a room next to her own, which no one else visited. A strange mausoleum … even the palms laid on his coffin, and casts of his hand and foot …' Benson felt a new connection to the task following this visit: ‘I hope and pray that I may be allowed to do the work there and do it well … and that I may be serene and patient.' His prayer for patience was needed – he was delayed from starting work for four more months, and he did not bear the interlude well.

During this time Benson was invited to several social events at Windsor Castle and was occasionally ‘summoned' for meetings with Esher. Although he was pleased when Esher greeted him as ‘Dear Colleague', he was sometimes incensed by Esher's superior manner. After one such visit, he railed in his diary, ‘I am not, by the way, going to pose as the humble hack – only let me get my foot in …' He then described his long wait for Esher. While he waited, in the company of the adolescent Maurice, Benson had taken the opportunity to discuss the book with the biographer Fritz Ponsonby (son of Sir Henry Ponsonby, Victoria's longest serving
private secretary; Fritz had lived most of his life in Windsor Castle) and Lord Knollys, the King's secretary. Esher later cautioned Benson not to discuss the project with anybody without his permission. ‘I don't quite understand the politics of this visit,' Benson mused – but he was becoming aware of Esher's propensity for power-play.

While he waited for the work to begin, Benson read widely on the nineteenth century and met with other scholars and writers. He also recruited staff to assist with the editing. He hired Miss Bertha Williams, whom he quaintly referred to as ‘the typewriter', who could copy ‘from 6,000– 10,000 words a day' and would ‘give us all her time for £100 for the year'. She was, he told Esher, ‘good at copying really difficult work and moreover is quite discreet'. This estimate of her speed, whether made by Benson or by Miss Williams herself, sounds optimistic, given she would have to decipher the handwriting and idiosyncratic expressions of multiple people, from letters held in tightly bound volumes.

Dr Eugene Oswald was hired as a researcher. After Benson's first meeting with Oswald, he reported to Esher that although he found Oswald to be ‘discreet, cautious and competent … I think he is rather an old slow-coach. However, I will spur him on.' A fortnight later he wrote in his diary, ‘Dr O. is my bugbear just now. What I want is a
rapid
searcher who will frisk out a few salient extracts; but he goes fumbling along.' Later, Benson found he needed more particular assistance: for German and French translations he consulted two experts, Mr C.C. Perry and Mr G. Hua, and to check all the ‘
historical
statements' he chose a ‘shining light of Modern History at Cambridge', J.W. Headlam. Each of these appointments had ultimately to be authorised by the King.

In February 1904, Benson visited Esher in London, hoping to get the work underway. They decided the thing to do was ‘simply to attack the papers and find out what they are'. The next day, Benson was taken to Windsor and given a key to the ‘strong room'. Work was finally to begin. Neither Benson nor Esher, however, recorded any firm decisions concerning topics to be included or excluded.

Over the first days, Benson's spirit dipped and soared. He began to regret accepting the job, lamenting that he was now ‘more tied down than ever'. Benson was given to hypochondria and disliked uncertainty and lack of routine. In anticipation of hard work, he had taken a holiday in Cambridge after Christmas before coming to Windsor; when he found he was unable to begin, he was downcast. ‘I am (not unnaturally) rather depressed & miserable just now … I want to get settled into regular ways … I seem to have no end of small ailments.' Three days later his enthusiasm was restored. He went to the castle and found that his room had been prepared for him. He was captivated by the ‘quaint' interior of the Tower:

… odd passages with oak arches and an area of open space in the centre … My own room is a big room hung with Hogarth engravings and good furniture –
a white chair with pink satin on wheels was used by the Queen
. I did not use [the room] today as it was not ready, but worked in the strong room and went through an interesting volume of Melbourne's letters – beginning with one on the morning of the Accession. His writing is very hard to read. It was odd to sit in this big room, all surrounded with shelves, with the deep embrasure filled with ferns … The wind roared and the rain lashed the windows. I was amused and happy.

Although the next day was Saturday, he hurried back to read more of Melbourne's letters. However, Sunday brought

a very bad hour of despair on waking, about the book. I had roughly catalogued the volumes on Saturday and found that there were about
460
! and out of this we are to make quite a little book.
Que faire!
And how am I to know what is interesting and what is not – However my course is at present: to go ploughing on with the papers & then decide.

Benson found himself enjoying the view from the Tower, especially of the Long Walk with its row of elms, and he sketched it in his diary. He even felt that he began to ‘see the light – to issue a volume at a time, and to cut out a definite subject. It is the thing to do. Hope returns.'

Benson's mood swings – from confusion to despair and then resolve – were in direct contrast to Esher's steady character. Benson's resolutions frequently had little chance of success, being ill formed and premature, and therefore doomed to lead to further despair. Throughout the editing process, Benson would ‘get a rush of blood,' confident that the task was nearing completion, only to be confronted with some new obstacle. Bundles and boxes of previously unknown letters would surface from other collections in the Royal Library, or from a distant room of the castle.

His domestic life did not help his mood. Benson was lodging at Mustians, the home of A.C. Ainger in nearby Eton. Ainger had tutored Esher at Eton and remained a guide and mentor throughout Esher's adult life; in the 1880s and 1890s, Esher's two sons had lived at Mustians, when they started at Eton. Here, billiards rather than conversation occupied the evenings.
Benson hated billiards. And he had ‘the strange experience of mingling with old friends who were no longer colleagues, of meeting daily boys over whom he no longer had any responsibility, and of living the life of a revenant …' As February progressed, he felt much worse: ‘I have not had such an acute attack of depression since I was at Cambridge, in 1882. It dogs me all day – though I can work and read it is all without savour or intellect.' He sadly described his condition as a ‘neuralgia of the soul'.

As the month went on, however, Benson was relieved to be able to record something resembling a daily routine:

I get to the Castle by 10.30 and I am let in by one of my faithful henchmen. It astonishes me to find how
pleasant
the Castle servants all are. Then I go to the Strong room to select a few volumes for upstairs; see what Miss Williams is doing: and then begin work. I write a letter or two, and then just read and select. The work is very interesting and time flies past … lunch … walk … tea at 5.00, work till 8.00 reading and writing. I suppose I do about 6 hours work a day, but very concentrated work. I see a glimmer of light with regard to the book now. One must have a brief introduction & plunge into the letters at once – There is certainly no lack – & plenty of good footnotes must be appended to explain people. I have written a sketch of much of my Introduction already.