Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Kingdom

King Charles’ coronation last Saturday brought out the Anglophile part of me that’s fascinated by the British monarchy, its triumphs and its troubles. Queen Victoria had never been a particular favorite of mine—she has always seemed stuffy and dull—but a recent visit to Kensington Palace that featured an exhibit on her difficult girlhood showed me she was more interesting, and much stronger, than I had expected. So, as my own idiosyncratic way of celebrating the formal installation of the new king, I watched a 1997 British drama called Mrs. Brown (also known as Her Majesty, Mrs. Brown) that details a surprising relationship in Victoria’s later life It is not to be confused with Victoria & Abdul (2017),  about the elderly queen’s relationship with a male Indian Muslim servant. Obviously if you’re a woman who from 1837 to 1901 has ruled over the most powerful empire on earth, you have time for a good many surprising relationships.

 In both Mrs. Brown and Victoria & Abdul, the role of the queen is taken by the formidable Judi Dench, who has made something of a specialty of playing regal types. She won her Oscar in 1998 for playing Elizabeth I in Shakespeare in Love, in a role that was scarcely eight minutes long. Remarkably, she was convincing as the imperious Virgin Queen despite looking in no way similar to the tall, slim Elizabeth. But I suspect that physically Victoria much better suits her petite, slightly plump frame. Her performance in Mrs. Brown too was much admired, leading to her first Oscar nomination: there have been eight in all.

 Playing opposite her is Billy Connolly, a Scottish actor once known for his raw stand-up comedy chops. His rough-and-tumble role is that of John Brown, a Scotsman who had once tended the horses for Victoria’s beloved late husband, Albert. Following the early death of Albert at age 42, Victoria has retreated to Scotland to mourn, presiding over a retinue of servants and hangers-on while turning her back on any royal duties. It is as part of a pact to lure her back to public life that Connolly is brought into her sphere. He makes quite a sight among the black-clad courtiers, wearing a kilt and his hair in a pigtail. Her royal highness first tolerates him because of Albert’s fondness for him, but then quickly succumbs to his blustering, bantering ways. Soon they are riding out in the highlands, and leading the dancing in Balmoral’s ancient halls. There’s no suggestion in the film that theirs is a romantic (o, heaven forfend, a sexual) relationship, but rather a deeply affectionate friendship that bypasses the difference in their public status.

 It's clear to see that Victoria enjoys this respite from her public obligations and this distraction from her private grief. Brown’s motives can more easily be questioned. As someone who came to the British throne before she was 20, Victoria obviously revels in the chance to be girlish. As for Brown, the film shows that his role at her side feeds an already healthy ego: he certainly takes the opportunity to lord it over the others who dwell in the servants’ hall. Still, there seems a selflessness in his loyalty to his sovereign. He makes a mistake or two, but surely seems to have her best interests at heart. Eventually, of course,  his role in her life comes under public scrutiny. When it gives rise to satirical cartoons and jests about “Mrs. Brown,” thus threatening her reputation in Parliament and encouraging republican moves against the monarchy, he knows where his duty lies.

 

The Young Victoria: Royal Rebel

It’s not easy being queen. Nor, for that matter, making a film about the not-so-long-ago queen of a nation that’s very much connected to our own history. I became interested in Britain’s Queen Victoria when I recently toured Kensington Palace. No, I wasn’t invited to tea by Harry and Meghan. They do live in Kensington Palace, as do Prince William, Kate, and their brood. (Clearly, it’s a very big palace.) But the historic rooms of this London landmark have now been spruced up for tourists. I learned a lot about the lavish apartments of George II—ladies were admitted to inner-sanctum parties only if their dresses with sufficiently bouffant—and the far more austere ones of William and Mary. But the chief attraction is the childhood rooms of Queen Victoria, the centenary of whose birth is being celebrated this year.

The word “Victorian” is such a part of our language that we rarely stop to think about it. Queen Victoria, in our minds, is a plump old woman in severe black widow’s weeds, forever mourning the death of her consort decades before. We consider her prim to the point of stodginess, burdening her descendants with an obsolete moral code. But, as I learned at Kensington, Victoria was far more complicated than the dour widow we associate with the era that bears her name. Her father, the younger brother of King George IV, died when she was one year old. As her father’s brothers all lacked legitimate heirs (though there were illegitimate offspring aplenty), it quickly became clear that the young Victoria was in line to assume the throne of England. Her mother, a German princess, in tandem with the ambitious, domineering Sir John Conroy, kept her a virtual prisoner at Kensington. She was not allowed playmates or much in the way of intellectual stimulation; she shared a bedroom with her mother and -- when descending the stairs of the palace -- was required (even into her teens) to hold the hand of a lady-in-waiting. Sir John’s goal, if she were crowned before age eighteen, was for her mother to be declared regent, with himself as the power behind the throne.

Fortunately for English history, the elderly and ailing George IV survived until after Victoria had reached her eighteenth birthday. On June 20, 1837, she was awakened with the news that she had become Queen. Finally able to make her wishes known, she banished Conroy, freed herself from her mother’s grip, and started making her own decisions.  Naturally, various factions tried to control her choice of a marriage partner. She was barely eighteen, extremely sheltered, and seemed easy to manipulate. A German branch of her family contrived to introduce her to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and she was immediately smitten. Happily, so was he. They corresponded for several years (she even sent him a fetching “secret portrait” of herself with her hair undone and shoulders bare), but she had become savvy enough to postpone matrimony until she was secure on the British throne. Finally she proposed marriage—that’s what queens get to do—and by all accounts their relationship was a constructive and loving one, producing nine children and some valuable social programs.

A 2009 British film, The Young Victoria, stars Emily Blunt as the headstrong and frankly sensuous (and charming) queen. I watched it with pleasure, since it reproduced so much I had learned at Kensington Palace. But IMDB lists multiple complaints of tiny historical inaccuracies, like an incorrect placement of the Order of the Garter.  All those Anglophiles out there should really get a life.

Painted for Albert's Eyes Only