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 physical security; 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 domestic import, 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 fix themselves
upon John Brown.

Eventually, the "simple mountaineer" became almost a state personage.
The inf