The Queen's Husband

Chapter XVII REVOLUTION

A new year had arrived and by February alarming news reached the palace. The Queen, once more pregnant and expecting to have her sixth child in April, was terribly shocked to hear that France was in a state of unrest.

Albert brought the news to her as she lay in bed resting because as usual pregnancy was irksome. Albert sat by the bed and said gloomily: ‘The revolution has begun.’

‘Albert. It can’t be.’

‘It is so, my dear. The mob is marching on the Tuileries.’

‘Oh dear. The poor King and Queen! What will become of them?’ She sat up in bed. ‘It is terrible, Albert. I picture it. Advancing now as they did before on poor Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. How dreadful! Poor dear Aunt Louise will be demented.’

‘It is a terrible thing to have happened.’

‘Perhaps it will pass. If the King is strong and has the Army with him …’

Albert shook his head. ‘It is a sad thing to see a monarchy totter. All royal houses must deplore it.’

‘And to think I was so angry with poor Louis Philippe only such a short while ago. I can’t bear to think of what he may be suffering at this moment. Such terrible things can happen. A mob can be fearful. To think it was such a short while ago that he sent the doll and the soldiers to the children. Who would have thought this possible!’

‘It is well for all of us to remember that this sort of thing could happen at any time.’

‘Not here, Albert. Not in England.’

Albert did not answer and she remembered what the people had been like at the time of the Flora Hastings scandal, and the stone that had been thrown at her carriage at the time of Flora’s funeral.

Fearfully she awaited news from France. There was nothing comforting when it came. It was a repetition of that terrible revolution at the end of last century. At midnight the tocsins had sounded throughout Paris, the sign for the people to rise. It was almost exact in detail. The royal family were in flight. Victoria could picture them hurrying across the Tuileries gardens and she was imagining it happening in Buckingham Palace.

‘Louis Philippe must fight,’ she had told Albert. ‘He cannot run away.’ But the French King had the terrible memory of the disaster which once before had overtaken his family. He had no wish to suffer as they had and when he was presented with an act of abdication he immediately signed it. He was so fearful that he said to everyone who came near him, ‘J’abdique, j’abdique.’

When the Queen heard she buried her head in her hands. She could not get out of her mind the picture of the mob’s marching on Buckingham Palace.

The palace was alive with rumours. The French family had arrived, said some. They were smuggled into the palace. Others said they had been executed by the mob.

‘There are always rumours,’ said Albert.

Lord Palmerston called. The Queen swallowed her dislike and received him immediately. Albert remained with her.

Palmerston bowed to the Queen and gave Albert that benign smile which suggested he thought him a young man of no great importance, but since he was the Queen’s husband he would indulgently allow him to be present while business was discussed.

‘Your Majesty,’ said the Foreign Minister, ‘it seems certain that the King of France, if he escapes, will try to reach England. If Your Majesty wished to put a ship at his disposal the Foreign Office would have no objection, but I must warn you that if Your Majesty attempted to harbour royalists, the country might object.’

‘I don’t understand you, Lord Palmerston. Are you suggesting that I should turn my own family away?’

‘I am suggesting, Ma’am, that taking into consideration the state of the country at the moment – Your Majesty will have been made aware that there has been a certain amount of unrest in various areas – it would not be wise to make too great a show of supporting the royalist cause.’

‘Lord Palmerston, we are royal,’ said the Queen imperiously.

Lord Palmerston bowed, smiling his superior smile as though he realised he must placate the children.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘it is my duty – and I am sure Your Majesty would always insist that I should not shirk that – to warn you that there is unrest throughout Europe. A revolution in one country could spark off one in others. Like fire revolution can easily spread.’

‘Do you suggest that here in England …’

Lord Palmerston as usual had no compunction in interrupting the Queen. ‘I suggest, Ma’am, that we should take every precaution that it should not happen here. Many of the small kingdoms of Europe are shaking at this moment, Ma’am. The success of the revolutionaries in France will inspire others throughout Europe.’

Albert spoke then. ‘This is so,’ he said, and Victoria could see by the expression on his face that he was thinking of Ernest and Alexandrine in Coburg.

The Queen was calmer.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘At least I may offer my relations the means of escape.’

Uncle Leopold was in a ferment of anxiety:

I am unwell in consequence of the awful events in Paris. How will this end? Poor Louise is in a state of despair which is pitiful to behold. What will soon become of us God alone knows; great efforts will be made to revolutionise this country; as there are poor and wicked people in all countries, it may succeed.

Against France we, of course, have a right to claim protection from England and the other powers. I can write no more. God bless you.

Poor Uncle Leopold. What anxiety must be his! He was so near to France, so close to the French royal family. And Aunt Louise, what was she thinking?

And from poor stricken Aunt Louise:

My dearly beloved Victoria, I understand by an account arrived this morning, and which seems to be correct, that my unfortunate parents arrived in England before yesterday evening; but I don’t know where they are.

There was a letter enclosed which Louise begged Victoria, if she were able, to give to her mother. Before sealing her letters Louise had heard that her parents were in London.

‘I thank God from the bottom of my heart for their safety,’ she wrote. ‘In my agony I did not wish for anything else.’

What terrible times! Poor Albert was very depressed and unhappy. She knew his thoughts were with Ernest in Coburg. He was picturing the mob marching on the palace there; he would see them with their greedy hands on the treasures of Rosenau.

Lord Palmerston called on the Queen and in Albert’s company she received him.

‘Your Majesty will be pleased to hear that the King and Queen of France have arrived safely in England,’ he told her.

The Queen said that the news was the best she had heard since this terrible revolution had begun.

‘I have a communication from a Mr Featherstonhaugh, our consul at Le Havre. When the King and Queen came to Le Havre he had everything ready for their embarkation. It was not easy. You will see that Mr Featherstonhaugh arranged for the King and Queen to have passports in the name of Mr and Mrs Smith and the King was disguised. It was necessary for him to shave off his whiskers, wear a casquette – a sort of cap – on his head, a coarse overcoat and a pair of goggles.’

‘The poor King!’ cried Victoria. ‘And the Queen … how she must have suffered!’

‘Mr Featherstonhaugh should be congratulated,’ went on Lord Palmerston. ‘By great ingenuity and at considerable risk to himself he smuggled the King and Queen on board. An hour after the steamer sailed gendarmes were at the quay waiting to arrest them.’

‘So they are safe!’ sighed the Queen. ‘Where can they go?’

Albert said: ‘I suppose there would be no objection to their going to Claremont. It is almost a private residence.’

Lord Palmerston bowed his head. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that the royal French family might find refuge in Claremont.’

It was so worrying. There were riots all over the country although these were not quite of the same nature as those which had occurred in France and other European countries. People at home, comforted Lord John Russell, were not quite so excitable as they were abroad, which was well. Revolutions never brought gain to a country, least of all to the people who created them. The trouble in England was mainly the risings of the Chartists, who wanted more privileges for the working classes. They were not satisfied with the Reform Bill and wanted more than had been granted them.

‘I never liked the Chartists,’ said the Queen. ‘And the thought of riots here after what has happened in France is very alarming.’

‘The situation here is under control,’ said Lord John.

Albert was not so sure. He was very worried. His thoughts, of course, were far away in Germany.

Then a fresh blow struck them. Albert came to the Queen holding the letter in his hand and he was in tears.

‘Albert, what has happened?’ cried the Queen.

Albert could only shake his head and Victoria took the letter from him.

‘From Coburg,’ she said in some dismay. ‘Oh dear. Poor dear Grandmama … dead. My poor, poor Albert, I know how you loved her, and so did I.’

‘She was a mother to me,’ said Albert brokenly.

‘This is too much in addition to everything else.’

‘She was an angel on earth,’ said Albert. ‘Always good and loving to us all.’

Victoria wept to think of that dear body lying under flower-covered earth in the Island of Graves which they had so recently visited.

The days were uneasy. On one bleak March day news was brought to the palace that the Chartists had assembled in Trafalgar Square and were planning to march on Buckingham Palace.

Very large, expecting her child to be born very soon, the Queen’s great concern was for the children.

‘Keep them happy in the schoolroom,’ she ordered. ‘They should not understand what this could mean.’

Going to the window she could see the mob marching up the Mall. They were coming closer and closer to the palace. This was what had happened in Paris.

She closed her eyes and thought: Is this the end then? Is this what I was brought up to, trained for? Albert was beside her. Dear Albert, still mourning for his grandmother, and anxious for his homeland!

She waited in trepidation for disaster but nothing happened and Lord John called at the palace to tell her that the rioters had dispersed.

‘They had no real heart for it,’ he said. ‘They’ve too much sense.’

Such alarms were terrifying though.

She hoped they were not having any effect on the child.

She remembered that it was Lord Melbourne’s birthday. She hardly ever saw him now because he spent most of the time down at Brocket. It was said that he had gone a little strange. She knew this was true because he imagined quite falsely that he was in financial difficulties. She herself had lent him money to help him over a difficult period, which did not in fact exist. She thought of him now and then, just a little guiltily, for in her domestic happiness she had been inclined to neglect him. But perhaps it was because she did not like to think of those extravagant entries in her diary when she was so devoted to him that she could not bear a day to pass without seeing him. She wrote to him:

The Queen cannot let this day pass without offering Lord Melbourne her and the Prince’s best wishes for many happy returns of it in health and strength.

She went on to write of the terrible revolution which had swept France and was threatening Europe.

‘Too gloomy a letter for a birthday,’ she finished, ‘and the Queen must apologise for it.’

It cheered her a little to picture Lord Melbourne’s delight when he received it.

Three days later she gave birth to a daughter. This was her sixth child.

‘We’ll call her Louise,’ she said. ‘I hope she doesn’t turn out peculiar, having been born at such a time. Aunt Louise will like the baby’s being called after her. Perhaps it will cheer her a little.’

The confinement had passed off much better than the Queen had expected. The new baby was a placid, healthy child, rather like Alice. For two weeks Victoria did not leave her apartments in the palace and Albert carried her from the bed to her sofa. The march to Buckingham Palace which had petered out before anything violent happened seemed to have sobered up the trouble-makers. How she longed to be at Osborne with dear Albert and the children and forget all the unpleasant things that were happening in the world!

But how could one forget the poor French family and dear Aunt Louise who must be suffering torment?

Still she was feeling better and blustering March was over and April was here with a promise of the spring.

She and Albert were going through their etchings together and Albert was telling her where she had quite succeeded when Lord John Russell was announced. As soon as he entered the Queen could see by the gravity of his expression that something was wrong.

‘I had better tell Your Majesty and Your Highness of my concern without delay. The Chartists are planning a big meeting to take place on the 10th and it is to be in London. The Cabinet fears they may mean trouble this time.’

‘Oh, how can they! I have just got up from childbed and they dare to do this?’

‘They consider only themselves, Ma’am,’ said Little Johnny. ‘We shall take every precaution at the palace, and we hope they can be halted before they reach it.’

‘Have they … threatened me … us?’

‘No, Your Majesty. They propose to march to the Houses of Parliament. But a mob can so easily get out of hand. I thought you should be warned. The Cabinet will discuss what measures can be taken.’

The Queen bowed her head.

When Lord John returned, Albert walked with him out of the palace while the Queen sat brooding.

Was it coming, she asked herself, all the terrible things that had happened in France? She and Lehzen had studied history together, and she knew what had happened in France during the big revolution. She had shivered when she had read of the fall of the Bastille and the flight of the King and Queen to Varennes, their capture, their bitter humiliation. She had felt so sorry for them because she had guessed what it must have meant for royalty to fall so low. But had she understood before? Now she could hear the shouts of the mob; she remembered them not so long ago when they had marched up the Mall. That was a rehearsal; the next would be the real thing.

Revolution, the abolition of monarchy – that was the plague which was spreading across Europe!

What of the new baby – but two weeks old? Dear little Louise! What sort of world had she been born into? What of Pussy, Bertie, Alice, Alfred and Helena? What terrible fate had befallen the Dauphin of France? Who could say? It was a miserable end and the more terrible for being so. What if such a fate were waiting for Bertie?

She felt hysterical with terror and when Albert came back he found her weeping helplessly.

‘Victoria, you must be calm. You must not give way.’

‘It is very well for you,’ cried the Queen, suddenly losing control. ‘Have you just got up from bearing a child? Have you suffered nine months of discomfort? Oh, no, you have not. You are like every other man. It is a fine thing to have a family, you continually tell me. Very fine … for you. You don’t have to suffer.’

‘Victoria, for Heaven’s sake, don’t get so excited.’

‘Get excited, when the mob is coming to tear us all apart. They will attack me, not you. You do not count for much. I am the Queen.’

In vain did Albert try to soothe her; she could only weep, and suddenly her temper would flare up and she would accuse him of heartlessness.

It was like a return to those days when there had been quarrels between them. He knew that when she was in such a mood he should leave her to herself but then she upbraided him for his cynical indifference.

Later that day Lord John called again at the palace and saw Albert. He said that the Cabinet had decided that it would be advisable for the Queen, the Prince and the royal family to leave for Osborne two days before the Chartist gathering was to be held.

The Queen’s relief was intense. As soon as she was alone with Albert she clung to him and asked forgiveness for her ill temper. At this sign of contrition Albert was as always ready to be kind and tolerant.

‘You found it trying,’ he said, ‘because it is only two weeks since the baby’s birth.’

‘I don’t mind anything, Albert,’ she cried, ‘as long as you and I are together.’

On the 8th of April they left for Osborne. What peace to be back in the dear house and lie in the drawing-room looking out towards the sea. Yet she was fearful of what was happening in London and she pictured them all flying from England in the royal yacht. To where? If all Europe was in a revolutionary ferment where could they go?

She almost wished that she were back in London. Perhaps to run away from a crisis was not the best way of handling it. She began to feel rather ashamed. It was of course due to the fact that she had had a child. She always felt depressed afterwards – not herself. It was trifles that upset her. She believed that in a big crisis she could be calm.

As it was she could not settle to anything.

The terrible 10th dawned. She walked in the grounds with Albert, discussing the possibilities. ‘I ought to be there, Albert. I wish we had not run away.’

Albert pointed out that they were here on the advice of the Cabinet and they must take that advice. If the government and the police force were going to deal with a delicate situation it was as well not to complicate the matter by having the royal family to protect. So Albert soothed her and she declared that if they could only escape from state duties, and she could live quietly and comfortably with the best of husbands, she would be the happiest woman in the world.

Albert patted her hand and said that at least his dear love was back with him and that quick-tempered, rather unreasoning person who supplanted her usually at the beginning of pregnancies and immediately after childbirth had disappeared; he in his turn could be content with almost anything if only his dear love banished that other person for ever.

‘Oh, Albert, I will try,’ she promised. ‘Indeed I will.’

There was exciting news from London. The Chartist march had misfired. Only a fraction of those expected to march arrived at Kensington Common which was to have been the gathering point. When the Police Commissioner told the ringleaders that the march was illegal and must be disbanded, this edict was accepted. The leaders were taken in cabs to the House of Commons where they presented petitions in which they protested about conditions in the country. After that they quietly went away. It was all very orderly.

What relief!

There was a scare later on when the rumour reached Osborne that the Chartists were coming to the Island. Many of them had been seen landing at Cowes – rough, unkempt fellows with the blood lust in their eyes.

Albert set about marshalling the help of everyone on the estate. The farm workers gathered, brandishing their sickles and the builders their shovels, ready to protect the Queen and her family.

Victoria gathered the children together in the schoolroom and told them that she was not quite sure what was going to happen but they must be prepared for anything.

They were almost hysterical when the news came that the party of bloodthirsty revolutionaries were a club of young men who had come over to the Island for their day’s outing.

But that was an indication of the atmosphere during those spring and summer months of 1848. Revolution across the Channel and unrest throughout Europe had produced an atmosphere of tension which the Queen had never known before.

During that uneasy summer the Queen and Albert often discussed the state of the world. The Emperor of Austria had been forced to abdicate and throughout Germany there was a movement to abolish royalty; Italy was shaken by revolution. Uncle Leopold’s Belgium stood firm, as did the Russian Empire; and in England of course the ‘friends of the revolution’ could get no firm footing. Uncle Leopold was regarded with great respect by the Belgians, who realised what he had done for their country; the Russians under the great Tsar were powerless to revolt; and the English temperament was not suited to revolution and the people could only make half-hearted attempts at it which came to nothing. The general opinion appeared to be the Queen’s, that revolutions brought no good to anyone.

All the same if there was trouble, the Isle of Wight was easily accessible and therefore not a very safe refuge, and they had the children to think of.

‘Albert,’ said Victoria one day, ‘do you remember how much we enjoyed Scotland? I don’t think I ever saw a more beautiful place.’

‘I remember it well,’ replied Albert. ‘I was reminded of home.’

‘If we had a little home in Scotland rather like dear Osborne we could be sure of a little more privacy there. Let us take a trip there, Albert. Who knows, we might find a dear little house up there just as we have here.’

Inquiries were set in motion and it was decided to rent a little castle for six weeks. This belonged to the Duke of Fife and was called Balmoral.

As soon as they arrived both the Queen and Albert were impressed by the beauty of the countryside. Albert declared that it reminded him of home so much that he was sure he could be happy there. The Queen was delighted. Here she and the family could live the simple life. They could all go out together like any family party and they did. Albert was able to shoot the birds and stalk the deer just as he used to at home in Coburg; and the children could ride their ponies while the Queen sat and sketched. It was all very simple and pleasant; and the people of the neighbourhood were delightful, not treating them as royalty at all. In fact these good simple people would have no idea how to treat royalty.

It was all very refreshing.

‘We must come again to Balmoral,’ said the Queen.

Alone in Brocket Hall Lord Melbourne thought of the happenings of the year which would soon be over. Revolution in France and threatening all Europe – even England could be in danger. And the Queen – the sweet young Queen who had meant so much to him and had been so charmingly innocent – he hardly ever saw now.

She was not only a wife but a mother now – a mother of six – and it seemed only yesterday that that wide-eyed girl had stood before him so touching, so affectionate, so eager to learn.

They had been as close and as intimate as people can be who are not lovers – yet they were lovers. It is possible to love not physically but with heart and mind. He was her ideal; she was his creation, and he was now nothing to her but poor Lord Melbourne; yet to him she had remained the meaning of existence. He could still see her now and then, receive a letter from her – congratulations on his birthday, perhaps, but it was only on such occasions that she ever thought of him.

Life was wearying. His books were there. Sometimes he would sit fingering them, for the very touch gave him pleasure; but he would read a page and not know what he had read and he would hear himself murmur: ‘Oh, no, Ma’am, I couldn’t agree with that.’ In his mind he was seeing her, talking to her, thinking of her … always her.

There was greatness in her. He hoped Albert would not suppress it. ‘Damned morality,’ he growled. ‘Too much of it can strangle the mind. May she be preserved. Victoria the Queen …’

‘He must not overpower you, Ma’am. Oh, you adore him. You were always too ready to adore those you had affection for. You saw only black and white, good and bad, and nobody is entirely bad, no one entirely good, not even Albert.’

He chuckled to himself, remembering how she had told him she had no wish to marry. And then Albert came and that was the end of her objections; and the end of her great friendship with her Prime Minister.

His servant came in and found him talking to someone whom he must have imagined to be sitting opposite him. It was nothing. Lord Melbourne had talked increasingly to himself in the last few years. But suddenly he fell to the floor in a fit and the servant knew that this was no ordinary day in Lord Melbourne’s life. He was right. It was the last one.

The Queen was saddened by the news.

‘He was my great friend,’ she reiterated. ‘He came to me on the day of my accession and I trusted him absolutely.’

‘Perhaps too much,’ said Albert.

‘Perhaps. But he was such a dear good man. I remember how his eyes used to fill with tears almost every time he saw me, and he was not an emotional man at other times. He realised the great responsibility.’

‘He was not a great statesman,’ Albert reminded her.

‘No, but he was a dear good man.’

The Queen wept silently. She owed him that; but very soon she was hardly thinking of him at all and when she did it was to find that she was inclining towards Albert’s view of him.

‘Poor, poor Lord Melbourne,’ she said.