The Queen's Husband

Chapter XIV POOR LORD MELBOURNE

Victoria sat fanning herself while Albert crawled round the nursery floor with Pussy on his back. How he doted on that child! Not that he spoilt her. Albert was far too wise for that, but Victoria had noticed how as soon as he stepped into the nursery his eyes went to his little Vicky. She was becoming quite imperious, knowing the effect she had on them both; but she really was the prettiest, liveliest child of three they had ever seen.

How different was The Boy. He was healthy enough, but at the age of two he could scarcely speak at all, let alone chatter away intelligently as Pussy had at that age.

‘What is the name of my big ship?’ demanded Pussy. ‘Tell me, Mama.’

‘If it is the yacht on which Papa and I have been sailing it is the Victoria and Albert. It was named after Papa and myself.’

‘I’m Victoria, not Pussy really,’ said the amazing child, ‘so perhaps it was named after me.’

Was there ever such intelligence? Albert’s eyes shone with pride as, still on all fours, he carried his shrieking daughter over to her mother.

‘Gee up,’ said Pussy.

‘Oh, I have become a horse have I?’ inquired Albert.

Pussy considered this. ‘No, a ship is best.’

She took Albert’s hair and began to pull it.

‘You will hurt your dear good kind Papa,’ chided the Queen. ‘Your cousin Charlotte would never do that.’

Pussy was all eagerness to hear about Cousin Charlotte. She clambered down from Albert’s back and came to sit on her mother’s lap.

‘Cousin Charlotte is my Uncle Leopold’s little girl. She is Aunt Louise’s too.’

‘Why?’ asked Pussy.

‘Because they are her mother and father.’

‘Is she big?’

‘Oh, yes. She is big and pretty and not nearly so naughty as some people I know.’

‘Pussy?’ asked the Princess Royal delightedly.

Bertie wanted to hear about this, so he toddled over and clutched his mother’s skirts.

‘Well, Bertie,’ she said, ‘you have come to hear too, have you?’

‘M’m, m’m, m’m!’ said Bertie. Really it was distressing that he could only mumble. When one considered Pussy at his age! After all he was only a year behind her.

She picked up Pussy and sat her on her knee.

Albert stood up, his eyes adoring Pussy, while the Queen told her daughter about the wonderful trip they had had visiting the King of France and then dearest Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise who had this wonderful daughter Charlotte.

Pussy listened attentively and then suddenly said triumphantly: ‘If Charlotte is so good why didn’t you have her instead of me?’

At which tears came into the Queen’s eyes and she held her daughter tightly. ‘Papa and I wouldn’t take anyone in place of you, my darling,’ she said.

‘M’m, m’m, m’m!’ said Bertie, but neither of them noticed him.

Later the Queen said that she had been so impressed by the excursion to the hunting-lodge of the King of France that she had thought it would be exciting if they had a small place they could go to. They both loved Windsor but it was a castle. What she meant was a small house where they could forget affairs of state and live like an ordinary family, where they would be more close, more intimate – just like any mother and father in the heart of their family.

Albert was enthusiastic and they decided to discuss the affair with Sir Robert Peel.

She was so happy to be back with the family. She was often in the nursery and the only child who really gave her cause for anxiety was Bertie. He seemed unable to learn, she remarked to Albert, not because he was exactly stupid, although Pussy’s extraordinary intelligence often made him seem so, but because he had no inclination to learn. He was lazy; and it made it all the more difficult because the nurses made such a fuss of him, and when he was taken out people would look at him in his carriage or wherever he happened to be and admire him. One woman in the park had actually put her head into the baby carriage and given him a great smacking kiss.

Bertie seemed to relish this, as though he already knew that he was the Prince of Wales and if he couldn’t compete in the nursery he would in the streets.

Pussy was as bright and as naughty as ever. Even Albert who, while being devoted to the children, was always ready to be stern with them for their own good, could not resist Pussy. Ever since they had returned from the trip to Belgium she talked of Cousin Charlotte and sometimes when she was planning some especially naughty act she would put her head on one side – like a judge, Albert said – and murmur: ‘Now I wonder what Charlotte would do.’

Victoria and Albert went into fits of laughter over Pussy’s slyness – when they were alone of course. It would have been quite wrong to have let her know how her piquant naughtiness amused them.

They were so anxious that the children should have the right upbringing. ‘You remember, my dearest love, what the Baroness Lehzen did to you.’

Victoria was almost ready to agree that Lehzen had been very wrong in so many things.

‘You can’t start too early,’ said Albert; and Victoria was worried about the manner in which they should say their prayers. It was a point she had meant to raise with Feodora when they had last been together. So she wrote asking how her children performed this necessary duty.

Feodora replied that they said them in their beds, not kneeling. ‘How absurd to find that necessary, as it could have nothing to do with making our prayers more acceptable to the Almighty or more holy.’

She went on:

Dear Pussy learning her letters I should love to see and hear. Has Bertie not learned some more words and sentences?

The answer to the last was No.

The Queen feared that Bertie was going to be something of a problem, and Albert said that it might be necessary to introduce a very stern discipline where the boy was concerned.

Alice, dear Fatima, seemed to increase in size every day; she rarely cried and her placid smile was a joy to behold.

Victoria did wish she could spend more time in the nursery, and more and more her thoughts turned to that little country house where they could live en famille. They had visited the Isle of Wight several times and both she and Albert thought it very beautiful, so when Sir Robert suggested that Osborne might prove a suitable residence, they agreed at once and plans were set in motion to purchase it.

The savour had gone from life for Lord Melbourne. Each week he realised that the Queen was becoming more remote. She was always gracious, always kind, but the lapses between the receiving and answering his letters was growing greater and he had realised that he must no longer write to her of politics. Gone were the days when she would not act without his advice; he heard, too, that she was becoming more and more attached to Peel. This was a good augury, he admitted, but it hurt him. He thought often of that occasion when she had refused to let him go and how in the amazing Bedchamber Affair had routed Peel solely for the purpose of keeping Lord Melbourne in office. It had been quite a scandal and after it people had publicly called her ‘Mrs Melbourne’; and even now he was still her dear good friend as she told him when they met or she wrote to him; she was loyal and affectionate; and of course he loved her, as she had once loved him. For she had. He had no doubt of that.

During his stormy married life he had found great comfort in literature; he turned once more to that solace. He spent many an evening at Brooks’ where his conversation was still an entertainment. He slept little. His political career kept him busy; he read voraciously into the early hours of the morning but about a year after he had left office he began to feel vaguely unwell. His mind wandered a little; he talked a great deal to himself; a habit he had had for years but previously he had done it in private or was aware of it. Sometimes in the presence of his colleagues at the club he would address a remark to someone who was not present. ‘One of Lord Melbourne’s odd quirks,’ it was said.

But it was an indication of what was to come. One morning he awakened to find that he could not move one arm. He had had a stroke.

The Queen was deeply concerned when she heard of this. She sent the kindest messages; as soon as he was well enough she would come to see him or he must come to see her. Every day there was word from her.

He recovered and was almost his normal self.

He called on the Queen and she was delighted to see him, though secretly finding him rather wan. She noticed that he dragged one foot a little and his arm hung rather awkwardly.

When she remembered the handsome, alert man who had called on her at the time of her accession she felt a little sad. Albert comforted her and so did the children.

Then she began to think of her former much loved Prime Minister Lord M as ‘Poor Lord Melbourne’.

A new year had arrived and before January was out, Albert heard that his father was dead. Duke Ernest had been ailing for some time and Baron Stockmar had often warned the Prince that he must expect his father’s death at any time; but this did not lessen the blow when it came. Albert’s family feeling was strong and there was despondency throughout the palace. Albert sat with his head buried in his hands while the Queen knelt beside him and they talked of ‘Dearest Father’. They had forgotten the fact that he had been continually importuning them, that his morals were questionable; in death they saw only his virtues.

‘My dearest Albert,’ said the Queen, ‘I suffer with you. That helps. Your grief is shared you know.’

‘You are all to me now,’ replied Albert mournfully.

They both poured out their wretchedness to Doctor Stockmar who was in Coburg with his family. They wanted him to return to England. They needed him. Dr Stockmar promised that he would come, but in the meantime Albert should return to Coburg for his father’s funeral.

The Queen was horrified.

‘It will be the first time during our married life that we have been separated, Albert!’ she exclaimed.

‘I know, my love, but this is a necessity.’

Victoria wept silently. ‘And at such a time, my darling, you need me.’

Albert admitted this, but it was his duty to leave her. He could not allow his father to go to his grave unattended by his son.

‘Of course you must go, my dearest,’ cried the Queen. ‘Oh, if only I could come with you.’

‘Alas, my love, you have your duties here.’

She was touched by Albert’s thoughtfulness, for a few days later he told her that he had written to Uncle Leopold to ask if Aunt Louise might come to Windsor and spend the time of his absence with the Queen.

‘I thought she was the one who could best compensate you for not having me here,’ said Albert.

‘No one could do that,’ answered the Queen, ‘but Aunt Louise would come nearest to it. Oh, Albert, how good of you to think of me in the midst of all your sorrow.’

‘My dear love,’ replied Albert, ‘you are constantly in my thoughts.’

There was another cause for mild depression. She was once more pregnant. She loved her family but, as her mother said, a little longer rest between the children’s arrival would be desirable. Of course she was strong and obviously made to bear children, but it seemed that no sooner was one delivered than another was conceived.

Besides, she did feel wretched at the beginning of her pregnancies and this, together with the knowledge that she was to part with Albert, made her desolate.

But for Albert’s sake she tried not to show her feelings. He was delighted about the child. He longed for a boy this time and the thought of the new arrival, she knew, did a good deal to cheer him, so perhaps it was selfish of her to dread the coming ordeal so much.

Aunt Louise came to Windsor and it was wonderful to show her the children and confide to her about the one that would make its appearance some time during the month of August.

On a bleak March day Albert left for Coburg.

‘Write to me, darling,’ begged the Queen, and Albert promised he would. True to his word he wrote as soon as he reached Dover and a few days later there was another letter from Cologne.

‘Your picture has been hung everywhere so you look down on me from the walls … Every step takes me farther away from you – not a cheerful thought.’

He had met Uncle Leopold on his journey through Belgium and he understood this dear kind uncle was making his way to England to join his wife and comfort Victoria.

Victoria read the letters through again and again. Only this absence could make her realise the extent of her love for her husband. She was a little jealous of his devotion to his family, which was wrong of her, she admitted. Even the children could not compensate her. When she was in the nursery she was sad because Albert was not there to crawl round with Vicky on his back and bounce Fat Alice on his knee and shake his head over Bertie’s shortcomings.

Albert has become everything to me, she thought.

His brother Ernest came to meet Albert when he arrived in Gotha. The two brothers embraced.

‘It is good to see you, Ernest,’ said Albert. ‘Alas, that it should be in such sad circumstances.’

Ernest was always philosophical. ‘We mustn’t regret too much. He would have been an invalid if he’d lived. You can imagine how he would have felt about that. It was the best thing possible.’

Albert replied that if they could look upon it in that way, it would be an immense relief.

‘But, my dear brother, it is the only way because it is the truth.’

Ernest was a little worldly and Albert wondered what sort of life he was leading. He took after their father in his interest in women. Albert stopped himself thinking ill of the dead.

‘Ernest, you are the Duke now. You will have your responsibilities.’

‘But I won’t be nearly as important as you are, Albert. Uncle Leopold tells us that in all but name you are the King of England.’

‘Victoria is a good loyal wife. We are very happy.’

‘I knew you’d do it. She dotes on you. You are very good-looking, Albert. And that moral rectitude of yours … well, I suppose it really works.’

‘You are teasing, Ernest. I suppose it takes our minds off dear Papa.’

Albert’s step-mother looked pathetic in the long black veil worn by German widows. She was staying at Albert’s grandmother’s house and they greeted each other affectionately for they had always been fond of each other. His grandmother almost swooned with joy at the sight of him.

‘Oh, my little Alberinchen!’ she cried and clung to him.

They all wanted to hear about his life in England and temporarily the purpose of his visit was forgotten while he talked to them of Victoria and the children and how devoted they all were to each other and how each day Victoria deferred more and more to him.

‘It was not always so,’ he explained. ‘At the beginning she had evil advisers, but once I had cleared them off we became very very happy together.’

His grandmother and step-mother could not hear enough of the children. The cleverness of little Vicky was his main theme.

‘Alberinchen with a daughter!’ cried Grandmother Saxe-Coburg. ‘And she nearly four years old! Why you will soon be finding a husband for her, Albert. Some handsome German Prince, eh?’

Albert agreed that the time would soon pass.

‘And a son too! Tell us of little Bertie.’

‘He is strong and quite handsome but not as sharp as his sister.’

‘That’ll come,’ said Grandmama Saxe-Coburg wisely.

He gave them the presents Victoria had sent for them and as soon as he was alone he was writing to her:

Could you have witnessed the happiness my return gave my family you would have been amply repaid for the sacrifice of our separation. We spoke much of you. So many questions are put to me that I am scarcely able to answer them …

Farewell, my darling, and fortify yourself with the thought of my speedy return. God’s blessing rest upon you and the dear children.

He felt a little complacent. He was greatly loved by his family and he returned to them as an important person. In England he might be thought to be merely the queen’s husband, but they all believed – and there was a great deal of truth in this – that he was virtually the King. Moreover Victoria’s loving letters were arriving constantly. She was never one to hide her feelings.

She was desolate, she wrote, longing for his return.

He could smile. He had achieved a great victory. Never again would he be shut out from her confidence. Never would the Queen forget that she was the wife.

He owed his success to following the advice of Stockmar and of course to his own calm God-fearing nature.

Stockmar must come back to England. He must consult him about Bertie. The boy who was to be King of England must be disciplined.

It gave him a certain feeling of chagrin that the child who could scarcely string a sentence together (and Vicky could chatter away at his age) and when he did stuttered, should one day be King of England, while he, Albert – handsome, clever, so beloved, could never be anything but the Prince. Even Victoria, for all her devotion, could not change that.

Perhaps that was why Bertie irritated him mildly.

He dismissed such a thought; it was unworthy of the man Albert believed himself to be. After all Bertie was his son. In bringing Stockmar to advise, in imposing a strong discipline, he was giving Bertie the best possible upbringing.

Soon he was on his way back to Windsor. Victoria was in a fever of excitement.

It was six o’clock in the evening when he arrived and she was watching for him. She flew to meet him and flung herself into his arms.

‘Albert! You are indeed back. What happiness to see you again.’

Albert kissed her, called her his dear little wife, told her how much he had missed her.

‘Oh never, never, never let us be parted again!’ cried the Queen.

The next morning Albert wrote in his diary:

‘Crossed on the 11th. I arrived at six o’clock in the evening at Windsor. Great joy.’

Soon after his return it was Victoria’s twenty-fifth birthday.

‘What a truly great age!’ she cried. Seven years since she had ascended the throne! More than four years a wife and three children in the nursery and another soon to be born. What a great deal had happened since she was eighteen! Birthdays made one think back over the past. She would write to poor Lord Melbourne to let him know that she had not forgotten him. Was it only six years ago that she had looked upon him as a god? What a foolish girl she had been! But then she had not had Albert to guide her.

Albert had given her as a birthday present a beautiful portrait of himself.

‘There is nothing, nothing I could have liked better,’ she cried. ‘Oh, Albert, it is just like you. You look so serious and so manly. I shall always love it and remember the day you gave it to me.’

Her eyes full of tears, she studied the picture with the group of angels in the background holding a medallion on which were the words Heil und Segan.

‘Health and blessing,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Albert, my darling, may you always enjoy them both.’

Before the end of May the Emperor of Russia caused a great deal of consternation by announcing that he was paying a visit to England – and was on his way. ‘But we have made no preparations,’ cried the Queen.

‘We will take care of him,’ replied Albert calmly. ‘I wonder what his motive is. You can be sure it is political.’

‘I am grateful to have you and Sir Robert at my side at such a time,’ said the Queen fervently.

‘Good relations between this country and Russia can do nothing but good,’ said Albert; so the Queen was sure this was so.

The Emperor was a little eccentric, as might be judged from his rather unceremonious arrival. First he went to the house of the Russian ambassador and there spent a night, but it was not long before he was installed in Windsor Castle. A magnificent edifice, he called it, and one of which the Queen must be justly proud. ‘It is worthy of you, Madame,’ he told her, for he was very gallant.

In spite of the fact that he was given one of the finest bedrooms in the castle he sent his valet down to the stables to procure hay and when this was brought a leather sack (which he had brought with him) was stuffed with it. He slept on this sack wherever he was and it always accompanied him on his travels.

He was very good-looking and in his youth had been reckoned to be one of the most handsome men in Europe. But there was something a little odd in his face.

Discussing this with her children’s governess, Lady Lyttleton, the Queen decided that it was because he had light eyelashes and his eyes were so large and bright.

‘They have no shade,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

‘Exactly,’ agreed the Queen.

‘And occasionally one can see the white above his eyeball which makes him look savage.’

‘I believe he got that from his father, Emperor Paul. I have heard it mentioned.’

‘He looks somewhat autocratic.’

‘Yet sad, and he does not smile much. All the same he is most friendly and the Prince says that it is a good thing that he should come and visit us in this way.’

It was Albert who guessed at the Emperor’s reasons.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it is because we visited the King of France recently, and he does not wish us to be too friendly with the French.’

Sir Robert Peel, who had had many conversations with the Emperor, confirmed this. The latter had also wished to discuss the question of Turkey, which appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

He told Sir Robert: ‘I don’t want an inch of Turkish soil, but I won’t allow anyone else to have one.’

Meanwhile the Emperor was fêted everywhere – at the opera, at the races, at reviews and banquets, all given in his honour. The Queen was enchanted when he said of Albert: ‘Nowhere will you see a handsomer young man; he has such an air of nobility and goodness.’

That was enough to win her heart, so she forgave the Emperor for descending on them so suddenly and obliging her in her present state, which was beginning to become irksome, to appear so often at tiring ceremonies in public.

The children were waiting for the summons to the small drawing-room that they might say goodbye to the Emperor, and Lady Lyttleton was trying to impress upon them the importance of the occasion.

‘He is the Emperor of Russia. You must be very polite to him. Do you hear that, Bertie?’

Bertie nodded.

‘He doesn’t know anything,’ said Vicky, giving her brother a contemptuous push.

Bertie returned the push; and said ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

‘He played with my bricks today,’ complained Vicky. ‘They were Mama’s bricks. She used to play with them in Kensington.’

Bertie laughed, delighted to have played with Mama’s bricks, for although he spoke very little he could understand what was being said.

‘You are not to do it, Bertie,’ said Vicky severely.

‘Will,’ answered Bertie.

Lady Lyttleton said: ‘Now, now. We don’t want any quarrelling, do we, or Mama will not be pleased.’

They were both sober at the thought.

‘Nor,’ added Lady Lyttleton, ‘will Papa.’

‘Papa loves me,’ said Vicky.

‘Of course he loves you all,’ said Lady Lyttleton. ‘You, Bertie and Alice.’

‘He loves me best,’ announced Vicky. ‘So does Mama.’

‘You’re a conceited little girl,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

‘What’s conceited?’

‘What you are.’

‘Then,’ said Vicky, ‘it must be nice.’

This was too much for Bertie, who kicked his sister.

‘That was a very ungallant thing to do,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

Bertie looked very pleased with himself and was sharply told: ‘And that is not a nice thing to be.’

‘Course it isn’t,’ retorted Vicky, ‘if Bertie’s it.’

‘Now this is not the way to prepare yourself to meet the great Emperor, is it? Why can’t you be like Alice? Look at her … smiling away so contented and happy.’

‘We can’t be babies all the time,’ said clever Vicky.

It was time for them to make their way to the small drawing-room. There was the Emperor – a glittering figure, big and grand; Mama and Papa were standing together talking to him.

‘And these are the little ones,’ said the Emperor. ‘Ah, the Prince of Wales.’

Vicky thought she should be seen first but the Emperor had picked up Bertie, who was smiling rather shyly and enjoying the attention. Mama and Papa were smiling kindly too.

‘And the Princess Royal.’ Now it was Vicky’s turn. He clearly thought her very charming, but even Vicky was too overcome to show off. She had planned to say the sentence in French, which she had learned off by heart, and which she had said to Mademoiselle Charier who taught her French. Mademoiselle Charier had told Mama, who had thought it was wonderful, and had written it in a letter to Uncle Leopold to tell him what a clever daughter she had – cleverer than his Charlotte. It was only pretence, of course, on Mama’s part, that Uncle Leopold’s Charlotte was more good and prettier than Vicky. She could see that in Mama’s eyes and by the way Papa looked at her and the way Mama held her tightly when she said that in spite of Charlotte’s being so wonderful she wouldn’t change Vicky for her.

Now Baby Alice, crowing with pleasure, was clearly very interested in the rather strange-looking Emperor.

Then they were all sent back to the nursery and Lady Lyttleton said they could watch the Emperor leave.

He and Papa went off together to Woolwich and Mama came into the nursery to tell them that they had behaved very well for the Emperor and she was very proud of her little family.

She was a little sad, Vicky noticed, as she always was when Papa went away.

‘Where is Woolwich?’ asked Vicky.

‘It is not far from London. Papa will say goodbye to the Emperor there and come back to us. You will like that, won’t you, Pussy?’

‘I am not Pussy,’ said Vicky. ‘I am the Princess Royal.’

The Queen exchanged glances with Lady Lyttleton. Really this daughter of hers was most astonishingly precocious – and clever of course. If only her brother took after her!

No sooner was the Emperor’s visit over than there was trouble and the Queen feared that she was going to lose Sir Robert Peel. It would have been ironic if she had paused to think back a few years when Lord Melbourne’s Ministry had been in danger of being replaced by the Opposition with Sir Robert at its head. At that time this had seemed the greatest tragedy of her life. Now she was in despair lest Sir Robert’s Tories should be defeated and a Whig government take their place. Poor Lord Melbourne could never return as Prime Minister of course, but she had to admit that if he could she would not have wanted him. Albert had taught her to realise that Sir Robert was a better Prime Minister than Melbourne had ever been, and how she relied on Sir Robert. It was most tiresome that with the Emperor’s visit just over and her body becoming more and more cumbersome, this crisis had to arise.

Sir Robert was concerned about the high cost of living and the riots which occurred because of this and proposed to ease matters by reducing the tax on sugar. The motion was defeated because of the defection of some members of his own party.

The Queen was very angry. Albert told her that a Jewish member of the party had placed himself at the head of the rebels. His name was Benjamin Disraeli and he was clearly angry because Sir Robert had not given him a post in the cabinet.

‘A most undesirable person,’ said Albert. ‘He has married a woman years older than himself … for her money of course.’

‘How very shocking!’ said the Queen.

‘She was the widow of Wyndham Lewis,’ explained Albert, ‘the member for Maidstone – a forward person, she has written to Sir Robert asking him not to ignore her husband but to give him a post in the government.’

‘What dreadful people! And now he is making this trouble.’

‘He is, you might say, a ringleader.’

‘Oh, if only people would be patriotic and think of the country rather than their own ambitions.’

Albert agreed. When Sir Robert called they would discuss the matter, and see if resignation could be avoided.

To the Queen’s delight it was. The government asked for a vote of confidence and even people like that dreadful Mr Disraeli did not want to see the Whigs in power so the government had its vote of confidence.

‘But it makes one realise,’ she confided to Albert, ‘how very insecure the government is.’

No sooner was this crisis over than another arose – this time with the French who, secretly angry because of the visit of the Emperor of Russia, seized the sovereignty of Tahiti and put the British ambassador there under restraint.

The French were prevailed upon to make reparations and Lord Aberdeen, the Foreign Minister, with Sir Robert and Albert, were attempting to bring about more friendly relations with France when she was brought to bed to give birth to her fourth child.

To Albert’s great joy it was a boy.

He was christened Alfred.