The Queen's Husband

Chapter II PRINCE ALBERT

Albert had passed his tenth birthday. He no longer screamed to get his own way and had become rather solemn. He was inseparable from his brother Ernest and, although they fought now and then, the bond between them had grown stronger with the years and neither could be really happy out of the company of the other. They were as different in character as they were in appearance. Ernest was tall; Albert shorter; Ernest robust, Albert alarming his grandmothers by his delicate looks. Ernest had bold black eyes and a pale skin; Albert was pink and white with very fair hair and blue eyes. Ernest already had a roving eye and liked to joke with the prettier maids in their father’s castles; Albert had no interest in the women; he enjoyed the company of their tutor and his brother. The only women he was really comfortable with were his two grandmothers.

He had never forgotten his mother. He had a vague idea now of what had happened, for Ernest had discovered and told him.

‘She had a lover,’ Ernest had explained, ‘and so she had to go away. Our father divorced her.’

Ernest gave his version of what this meant and Albert could not forget it. Something terrible and shameful had happened in his family; he knew this was so because of the manner in which no one would explain it to him. Looking back he could see the little Alberinchen who had loved his mother more than he had loved anyone else except himself. She had been so beautiful – more beautiful than anyone else, more loving. No one had conveyed to him in quite the same way how precious he was; no one had made him feel, merely by being close, happy and secure in the same way as she had.

Something had happened when she went away. He was not sure what, but it was for this reason that he had accepted Herr Florschütz so wholeheartedly and was glad the nurses had been dismissed. He did not want to look at women; they reminded him of his mother and something shameful. He loved her as he always had. Whatever she had done, and Ernest implied that it was terrible, he believed that he could never love anyone as he had loved her. He kept the little pin she had given him and he looked upon it as his greatest treasure. But his discomfiture in the company of women persisted because they made him think of vaguely shameful things.

He was happy, though, in the woods and mountains; and his father wished him to excel at all manly sports so he and Ernest spent a great deal of time fencing, riding and hunting. He began to love the beauty of the countryside and became an expert on flora and fauna. There was plenty of opportunity to study these, for their father’s pleasant little castles were situated among the magnificent scenery of forests and mountains. Rosenau, his birthplace, would always be his favourite, but he also loved Kalenberg, Ketschendorf and Reinhardtsbrunnen: and, provided that Ernest was with him, he was happy in any of the family residences. Sometimes they visited one grandmother, sometimes the other. These ladies vied with each other for the affection of the boys; and when Albert could forget his mother, he was happy.

In the early days following her departure she had been constantly in his thoughts, but because of the attitude of those about him he had not spoken of this. Often he complained of pains to the grandmothers and they would hustle him to bed and send for the doctors. He knew that his illnesses terrified them and, as they gave him such importance, he enjoyed them.

‘Oh, Grandmama,’ he would pant. ‘I have such a pain here …’ And it was a great joy to see the alarm leap up into Grandmother’s eyes.

He knew there were conferences about Albert’s health. He was known to be ‘delicate’ – ‘not robust like Ernest’. Ernest was inclined to despise Albert’s delicacy until reproved by his elders for this attitude. Somewhere at the back of Albert’s mind was the thought that if he were ill enough his mother would have to come back to him.

The situation did not persist because at the early age of six he started to keep a diary and, when this proved to be little more than a detailed account of his ailments, shrewd Grandmother Saxe-Coburg felt that they had been unwise to worry so much about his health.

‘The child is obsessed by illness,’ she declared to her son. ‘He appears to take a pride in it. If this goes on when he grows up he will make a point of becoming an invalid.’

It occurred to her then that a good part of Albert’s fragile health might be due to his imagination.

‘Get them out into the fresh air,’ she advised. ‘We’ll let him see that Ernest’s rude health is more admirable than his delicacy. We’ll watch over him as usual but we won’t let him know it.’

The Duke soon began to realise the wisdom of his mother’s council, for although Albert would never be quite the sturdy boy Ernest was, he was fast forgetting about his illnesses and in spite of a weak chest and a tendency to catch cold his health immediately began to improve.

The fresh country air agreed with him and, as the Dowager Duchess said, to see those two boys coming in from the forest after one of their riding jaunts, chattering away about what they called their specimens, one’s fears for their health could be happily forgotten.

Herr Florschütz was good for them too. From the first he had been quite unmoved by Albert’s tears. Once he had startled the little boy during one of the grammar lessons when Albert had been told to parse a sentence and did not know which was the verb – in this case ‘to pinch’ – Herr Florschütz gave young Albert a sharp nip in the arm so that Albert should, he said, know what a verb was. Albert, who had been in tears because he could not find the verb, was startled into silence. Herr Florschütz hinted that he did not think very highly of tears as a means of extricating oneself from a difficult situation, and as Albert had a natural aptitude for learning why not exploit that, and then he would be so proud of his achievement that he would want to crow with pride rather than whine in misery.

So Albert applied himself to learning and Herr Florschütz applauded; so did his father and the grandmothers. ‘You’re the clever one,’ said Ernest. Yes, it was much more pleasant to crow with pride; but only inwardly of course. He was learning very much about life.

He asked Ernest what he wanted to do when he grew up. Ernest thought for a while and said: ‘To govern like our father; to ride, to hunt, to feast, to enjoy life.’

Albert had replied: ‘I want to be a good and useful man.’

Ernest called him a prude which angered Albert, who struck his elder brother. Ernest retaliated and in a short time they were rolling on the grass in a fight.

Herr Florschütz, coming upon them, ordered them to stop and said they should copy out a page of Goethe for misbehaving.

As they did it, Albert apologised. ‘I started it.’

‘Is that what you call being a good and useful man?’ taunted Ernest. ‘Fighting your brother.’

‘I was wicked.’

‘Oh, well,’ laughed Ernest, ‘it’s better than being a prude.’

They laughed together, secure in the knowledge that nothing could change their devotion to each other; and as soon as they had finished their task they were off into the forest to collect wild plants for the collection which they had called the Ernest-Albert museum.

So passed the years until Albert was twelve years old.

The memory of that day in the year 1831 stayed with the Prince throughout his life. It had been an ordinary day. He and Ernest had been at their lessons all through the morning studying mathematics, Latin and philosophy, at which as usual Albert excelled. Ernest was longing for the afternoon when they would get out into the forest. He was anxious to add a special kind of butterfly to the ‘museum’ and hoped that he would be the one to capture it before Albert did. Meanwhile Albert was producing the answers required by their tutor and the lessons were running on the usual smooth lines.

At last Herr Florschütz shut the book before him and glanced at the clock.

‘I should like to hear the song you have composed,’ he said to Albert. ‘I wonder if it is up to the standard of the last.’

‘It’s even better,’ said Ernest, ‘Albert and I sang it last evening.’

‘Then I shall look forward to hearing it this evening.’

Albert hoped the hearing would not be too late; he liked to get to bed early, unlike Ernest, who preferred to sit up half the night. Albert could not keep awake. He would if possible retire after supper on the pretence of reading history, religion or philosophy and Ernest, guessing what was actually happening, would creep up to the room and find him asleep over his books.

Nothing could keep him awake; as soon as supper was over the drowsiness would attack him. What he would have enjoyed would have been to study, to take exercise in the forest, to shoot the birds and collect the butterflies for the museum, to hunt for rare plants and rocks and stones and to study music, compose his pieces, to be tried out with Ernest; and then supper and bed. The trivial social life of the evening tired him; he could be painfully uncomfortable, finding it impossible to hide his fatigue. There had been an occasion when he had actually dozed at table and only Ernest’s constant prodding had kept him from slumping over the table in deep sleep.

Ernest taunted his brother in his good-humoured way; but he would always watch over Albert on special occasions to make sure he did not disgrace himself by falling off his chair and continuing to sleep on the floor – which he had done once when they were alone.

The brothers understood each other. Albert had never had the physical energy of Ernest; Ernest had never had the mental ability of Albert. They were different; they respected the difference; and the bond between them grew closer as the years progressed.

Out into the beautiful forest they rode. They were at Reinhardtsbrunnen, the home of their maternal grandfather. He was dead but his brother Frederick had inherited the title and estates and the boys were always welcome there. How Albert loved the forest, with the sunshine throwing dappled patterns through the leaves of the trees; and riding on and on to where the trees grew more thickly, he recalled the fairy stories their grandmothers had told them and which invariably were set in forests such as this.

‘That was a long time ago,’ he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. Ernest shouted: ‘What?’

Albert told his brother that he was thinking of the stories about the forests where gnomes and trolls, woodcutters and princesses and witches had abounded.

‘You always enjoyed them. They used to tell them to keep you from howling. You were a little howler, Albert. Always in tears. I can remember your screams now. What a pair of lungs you must have had!’

‘I must have been a horrid child.’

‘You were. But one thing about you, you did know how to get your own way. I salute you, Albert. You always will, I’m sure.’

‘Ernest, have you ever thought that we shan’t always be together?’

‘Good God no. Why shouldn’t we be?’

‘Our grandmothers would not care to hear you use such oaths.’

‘Prude!’ Ernest jogged Albert with his elbow and almost knocked him off his horse, then he broke into a gallop and Albert, spurring his horse, went after him.

Ernest pulled up and waited for his brother. ‘What did you mean by that?’ he demanded, ‘Of course we shall always be together. Who’d stop us?’

‘Circumstances,’ suggested Albert. ‘When I marry the Queen of England I suppose I shall have to live there.’

‘Marry the Queen of England! Who says you will? Suppose I marry her instead?’

‘You! But she has been promised to me.’

‘Royal marriages.’ Ernest scoffed. ‘What’s suggested in our cradles doesn’t always come off. Surely you know that? And this queen … she’s not a queen is she?’

‘I follow what is happening over there. The old King George is dead and his brother William is King. He is old and half mad and his wife is sterile.’

‘Hold it a minute,’ said Ernest.

‘What an expression!’ chided Albert.

‘My dear old prude and pedant of a brother, old men often surprise the world with their virility. What if your little Alexandrina Victoria is not a queen after all? Then what, eh? If you marry her she’ll have to come to Coburg and I shall be the Duke remember. I am the elder brother.’

‘Perhaps Uncle Leopold wouldn’t want me to marry her if she isn’t a queen.’

‘There you are. Too many “ifs”. You stop fretting about this cousin until she is the Queen. Now what about tying up the horses. I believe this is a good spot for the butterflies.’

‘I was only saying, Ernest, that if she becomes Queen and I marry her and live in England I should expect you to come and visit me … often.’

‘Well, thanks for the invitation. My equerry will accept it in due course.’

‘As Duke of Coburg you might not have one. Father is always complaining about the expense of keeping up his Court.’

‘Don’t worry about that. My brother, King Albert of England, will send me one. That would be amusing, an English equerry.’

‘What nonsense you talk.’

‘Why I am only being amiable and sharing in yours. Don’t think too much about this marriage. The grandmothers were only romancing.’

‘And Uncle Leopold?’

‘Everyone knows he has plans for marrying the family all over Europe. You’ll probably end up in Spain or Portugal. Imagine that. It would be very hot in the Peninsula. You’d fall asleep at midday instead of after supper.’

‘Of course it’s true that one can never be sure what’s going to happen,’ agreed Albert. ‘You remember when we had whooping-cough.’

‘A trying time,’ said Ernest.

‘And when we were better everything was changed. It was like a dividing line neatly drawn through our lives; all the nurses went and Herr Florschütz came. Our mother went …’

Ernest glanced at his brother and his glance was sober.

‘Let’s tie up here, Albert,’ he said rather solemnly.

They did, and Ernest threw himself down and, plucking a blade of grass, started to chew it.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Albert, stretching out beside his brother.

‘It’s about our mother,’ said Ernest. ‘They didn’t tell you because they thought it would upset you.’

‘What about her?’ asked Albert.

‘She’s dead.’

Albert did not speak. He stared up at the sky through the leaves. He felt the sudden rush of tears to his eyes as he thought of her looking round the nursery door, showing him the pictures in a book, giving him that fierce sweet-scented hug. He had never given up the hope that she would come back; when he had talked of the future he had unconsciously seen her there, for when he was a man and the King he was certain he was going to be, he would have brought her back to be with him. And now Ernest was saying that she was dead.

‘Why did they tell you and not me?’

‘I am the eldest,’ said Ernest.

Albert sprang to his feet in sudden anger and Ernest said quickly: ‘No, I’m teasing. It was because they feared it might upset you. They told me to break it to you gently.’

‘They didn’t … kill her.’

‘Kill her! What a notion! She had been ill for years.’

‘They should have told us.’

‘Of course they shouldn’t.’

‘She was too young to die.’

‘She was thirty-two and she was very ill.’

‘She would have been thinking of us at the end, Ernest.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘But of course she would. We were her sons.’

‘We couldn’t have been important to her or she wouldn’t have left us.’

‘She didn’t want to leave us. I am sure she cried and cried.’

‘Everyone doesn’t turn on the tears like you did, Albert.’

‘She loved us.’

‘You were the favourite.’

‘I know,’ said Albert softly.

‘Well, she’s dead and she was unfaithful to our father. That was very wicked and she had to take her punishment.’

Albert was silent. She had been wicked, he admitted; and because of that, she had left them. What a terrible thing wickedness was! Every time he looked at a woman he would think of the wickedness which had separated him from her and had brought her to her sad and lonely death.

‘She lived in Paris,’ said Ernest, ‘which we all know is a very wicked city.’

Albert shivered, but Ernest had jumped to his feet.

‘Come on,’ he said, his relief obvious because his duty was done.

But Albert could find no pleasure in the forest that day. His thoughts were far away in the past with his beautiful mother; he could not get out of his mind the belief that temptation was lurking everywhere and if succumbed to could ruin lives. He would never forget what had happened to his beloved mother who had become a bad woman. Wickedness had its roots in that subject which Ernest found so interesting but which filled him with abhorrence: the relationship between the sexes.

Death was in the air that year. Grandmama Saxe-Coburg did not pay her usual visit to Rosenau, nor was she well enough for the boys to visit her. Duke Ernest was called to her bedside one day and the boys stood at the window watching him and his little party ride away. ‘They say she is very sick,’ said Ernest. ‘And she is old.’ Albert shivered. But one did not have to be old to die. He was thinking of his mother as he had last seen her and now when he thought of her he must imagine her lying in a coffin … dead. And the nails which were driven into that coffin were like her sins.

It was impossible to imagine never seeing Grandmama Saxe-Coburg again; Albert kept thinking of how she had looked after him and had meant more and more to him since his mother had gone.

Each day he waited at the window for a sign of the returning party. He would know as soon as he saw them what news they had brought. Ernest would stand silently beside him while they both watched the road.

‘Perhaps Father will bring Grandmama back with him,’ suggested Albert.

‘How could he if she were very ill?’ demanded Ernest.

‘Perhaps she is not so ill. Perhaps she has recovered. If she comes back I will sing my newest song to her and I am sure she will like it.’

Then they began to talk of what they would do to entertain Grandmama Saxe-Coburg when she came to Rosenau to get well.

And one day they saw their father returning and they knew that he came in mourning.

He sent for Albert and when his son stood before him he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

‘She was my mother and your grandmother,’ said the Duke, ‘and she has gone from us now. It is a great sorrow for us all. And you perhaps more than any one of us. You were her favourite.’

The tears flowed down Albert’s cheeks; he brought out a handkerchief and dried them.

‘Death is terrible,’ said Albert.

‘That is at least a lesson you have learned, my boy.’

‘Only a little while ago she was well and there was no sign that she was going to leave us.’

‘These things happen, my son. She was not young and she would say that she had lived her life. But I have sent for you because she talked of you particularly at the end.’

‘What did she say of me, Father?’

‘She said she had every confidence in you. She said you had good moral qualities and she believed you would grow into a good man.’

‘It shall be my earnest endeavour to do that, Father. I want to be both good and useful in the world.’

‘She was ambitious for you, Albert. There is not much here for you. You are a second son. A good marriage is what you need. It was her dearest wish that you should marry your cousin. I hope that wish will be fulfilled.’

‘If my cousin is agreeable I shall be.’

The Duke laid his hand on his son’s shoulder again.

‘Always remember that it was the wish of your grandmother – her last wish.’

Albert swore solemnly that he would.

The brothers were going on a journey and they were very excited because it would be the first time they had left Germany.

After the bustle of preparation and many excited conferences they set out with a very small entourage.

‘It’s all I can afford,’ said the Duke, ‘and my brother Leopold will have to understand that.’

At least Herr Florschütz was with them, for lessons would continue as usual and that very useful gentleman did service as an attendant as well as tutor.

It was very interesting travelling through the little German States and visiting relatives en route. The changing scenery was a constant delight to the brothers and they were able to collect many unusual pieces of rock and stones for their museum; stopping at inns was a great novelty and it was an adventure to mix with ordinary people, particularly when they were sometimes incognito and at others those they met had never heard of the Coburg Princes.

What a pleasure it was to be reunited with Uncle Leopold, whom Albert had never forgotten. Indeed Uncle Leopold had not intended to be forgotten. He wrote frequently to members of his family, especially to those whom he considered to be his protégés and Albert was certainly one of these. Although a younger member of the family he had long placed himself at its head and was already busy arranging possible unions for every marriageable young Coburg.

Uncle Leopold, very good-looking, in fact not unlike Albert himself, very careful of his clothes – he liked to consider himself the best-dressed King in Europe – rather vain, wearing three-inch soles on his boots to increase his height, victim of numerous not very clearly defined illnesses, had such an assured high opinion of himself that his nephews felt it must be well deserved. Such was Leopold – warm-hearted it seemed, overflowing with affection, displaying a great dignity and making sure that everyone observed it; the most distinguished member of a family which he had determined was going to straddle Europe. From the moment of the meeting he and Albert were immediately aware of an accord which the less sensitive Ernest could not intrude upon. Albert was Leopold’s boy, and Leopold immediately decided that he was his favourite nephew. There was only one member of his family who could bring a warmer glow to his scheming avuncular heart and that was the little niece now living at Kensington Palace – Alexandrina Victoria.

Uncle Leopold lived in much grander style than they did in Coburg; and in any case Uncle Leopold’s personality would have made the humblest cottage seem grand. He had very recently married and they met Aunt Louise, a charming young woman, completely overawed by Uncle Leopold, which pleased Uncle Leopold who clearly thought that he had done her a great honour by marrying her. She was cultivated, and spoke, as well as her native French, English, Italian and German; as she was the daughter of Louis Philippe, the King of France, they were in very exalted company indeed.

Ernest really preferred Aunt Louise to Uncle Leopold, but then Ernest was beginning to show a tendency to admire pretty women and Aunt Louise was pretty with her fair hair and light blue eyes and small figure. She had rather a large nose – ‘the Bourbon nose’ Uncle Leopold called it affectionately – but that was a good thing to have because it proclaimed her royalty.

Uncle Leopold was anxious to show the boys something of Court life.

‘This is a great kingdom,’ he reminded them, ‘rather different from the little dukedoms of Germany, eh?’

He liked to walk with Albert and leave his wife to entertain Ernest, to Albert’s great relief for he would have hated to have been left to the mercy of a pretty young woman. Uncle Leopold talked at great length about his illnesses, and how his good friend Baron Stockmar had advised him to take this and that remedy. ‘Stockmar is in England just now but one day I want you to meet him. He was my doctor and then my adviser. Stockmar is a very clever man.’

‘Why is he in England now, Uncle?’

‘My dear sister, your aunt, the Duchess of Kent is there, and she needs as many friends as she can find to support and advise her. She is in a rather uneasy position at the moment. I should like to be there but my duty of course is here in the country which I govern. Stockmar tells me what is happening there. I must know this,’ he added roguishly, ‘because my dear niece, your cousin, is a very important little person over there.’

‘Uncle, is she the one I am going to marry?’

‘Yes. But it is a secret so far. A few are in my confidence, but we do not want it to spread too far.’

‘Does she know, Uncle Leopold?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Do you think she will want to marry me?’

‘When I tell her that I want her to, she will.’

‘I would rather she had chosen me without being told.’

‘That would have meant that she was somewhat bold. No, it is well that when she is told of my wishes she will want to obey them. That is her character. It is because she is sweetly docile that I love her. And that, my dearest Albert, is the quality I prize in all my little nieces and nephews.’

That was how the conversation went whenever they were together. Leopold would always bring it round to the little girl of Kensington. Albert wished that he could see her. Uncle Leopold’s description sounded delightful; but when he discussed the matter with Ernest, his rather cynical elder brother remarked that Uncle Leopold could be prejudiced in his descriptions of the young lady of Kensington; he believed that this was a common practice with royalty when marriages were being arranged.

Albert suggested that his brother might be jealous because he, Albert, had been chosen to marry a queen – if she became one. This made Ernest explode into laughter. No, he wanted no queens, thank you. He would make the right sort of marriage but that would not prevent his having ‘friends’ whenever and wherever he wished.

Leopold questioned Herr Florschütz closely about the boys’ studies. He said he would consult Baron Stockmar and plan out a schedule for their education.

‘Will our father agree to that?’ Ernest wondered when the boys were alone together.

‘Agree,’ cried Albert, ‘of course he’ll agree. Uncle Leopold is the most important man in Europe.’

‘He has bewitched you,’ said Ernest.

‘Bewitched! Who’s bewitched? Now you’re thinking of the grandmothers’ fairy stories.’

‘You do seem to think he is the most brilliant, magnificent, clever …’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Albert. And then: ‘But he is.’

‘There, I told you so. No wonder Uncle Leopold loves you. You flatter him so innocently.’

‘How could one flatter innocently? Flattery in itself suggests something false.’

‘There you go, Herr Florschütz’s model pupil. No wonder Uncle Leopold decided you should have the prize.’

‘What prize?’

‘The Queen of England, idiot.’

The visit passed all too quickly for Albert. It had been a wonderful experience. The dream uncle of his childhood had taken on flesh and blood and was every bit as godlike as Albert remembered. The Court at Brussels was grand. ‘You should have seen that of my late father-in-law in England,’ Uncle Leopold told the boys. ‘I never liked him but he was considered to be very artistic. Carlton House was absolutely splendid and the Pavilion at Brighton – well, it had to be seen to be believed. Then of course he got to work on Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace.’

‘It must have been very grand to be grander than Brussels,’ said Albert.

‘Ah, my boy, you have seen nothing of the world. We’ll change that. We’ve got to get you educated along the right lines. One of these days you must go with Stockmar on the Grand Tour.’

‘We should enjoy it,’ said Albert, underlining the fact that Ernest would be there too. ‘But I don’t think our father would be able to afford it.’

‘There are some things which it is false economy to go without,’ said Uncle Leopold.

So it seemed very likely that when the time came the boys would go on the Grand Tour.

‘Of course,’ said Uncle Leopold, ‘you are young as yet. Thirteen. Boys still. But another six years, eh? Time soon passes. Have no fear, I shall write to your father. It is very important that you should be prepared. Do you speak English, Albert?’

Albert said that English was not included in his studies.

‘An oversight,’ said Uncle Leopold, ‘which shall be remedied.’

How he enjoyed those talks with Uncle Leopold. He avoided Aunt Louise, because he felt embarrassed in her company. She was pretty and when Uncle Leopold was not there, inclined to be gay. His uncle did in fact have to reprove her on one occasion for making a joke.

What a good man Uncle Leopold was! thought Albert. When he grew up he hoped he would be a little like him.

It was an exciting visit and Albert enjoyed it thoroughly, except for the evenings, when Aunt Louise organised entertainments for them and Albert was hard put to it to hide the fact that he was almost asleep.

When at last it was time to say goodbye, Uncle Leopold embraced his younger nephew fondly. There was an understanding between them. Uncle Leopold was going to make sure that he was prepared for his future, which was to be the husband of the little girl in Kensington.

When they reached home it was to find that their father, after having been a widower for more than a year, had married the Princess Mary of Würtemberg.

Having a step-mother did not inconvenience the Princes in the least. After their return from Brussels they continued with life just as before, and as the Princess Mary of Würtemberg was amiable, more like an older sister, life was very pleasant. It was true that Albert was more aware of what was happening in England than he had been. When he heard that Queen Adelaide had ‘hopes’ he was downcast because he knew Uncle Leopold would be; and when those hopes came to nothing he rejoiced. There were periods when he was completely unconcerned by the future; that was when he was composing a new song, or when he and Ernest went off on one of their expeditions into the forest together; the ‘museum’ was growing and each exhibit held some particular memory for him. It was a pleasant, happy life and he had no desire to grow up. Mornings were spent in study, long afternoons out of doors: riding, fencing, shooting, walking and long nights of sleep. No one, commented Ernest, enjoyed sleep as much as Albert and he didn’t confine this state of somnolence to the night either. ‘I am constantly prodding you to wakefulness,’ complained Ernest.

Ernest laughed at his brother for his increasing solemnity and rather against his will Albert indulged in an occasional practical joke which was the only sort he could see any point in.

Once he and Ernest filled the cloak pockets of one of their father’s guests with soft cheese. This was a lady, which rendered the joke doubly hilarious in Albert’s eyes. They made a point of being in the cloakroom when she was helped into her cloak and had the satisfaction of seeing her plunge her hand into the mess in her pocket. Suspecting them, she had berated them angrily, and, while Albert remained regarding her with big reproachful eyes, Ernest was almost choking with laughter.

That was a period when they played practical jokes whenever they could think them out. Their indulgent step-mother told their father that it was a phase most boys went through and it was in a way a relief to see Albert slightly less of a model boy.

But Albert was really much happier at the more serious activities. He was developing a great dignity, and practical joking did not really fit in with this. Music was his most pleasant relaxation; he played the piano and organ with skill and composed a little; he had a good voice which he liked to air; he could draw and paint tolerably well; he was interested in science; he wrote a little and confided to Ernest he would like to write a book – a very serious one, on German thought and philosophy. In addition to all these intellectual achievements he could fence and give a good account of himself in forays with Ernest; he was a good swimmer, and could manage a horse with skill. The one exercise he did not enjoy was dancing – not so much going through the motions but because it usually meant touching hands with people of the opposite sex and as he said to Ernest there was something erotic in the procedure.

‘Now that,’ said Ernest with a chuckle, ‘is exactly what I like about it.’

His step-mother noticed that when he was introduced to ladies his manner was awkward.

‘Oh, that’ll pass,’ said his father. ‘He’s a boy yet.’

When Ernest was seventeen it was time for his confirmation and, said Herr Florschütz, Albert was so advanced, so serious in his inclinations and in every way as forward as his brother that there seemed no reason why he should not share in the ceremony.

So on Palm Sunday in the Chapel of the Palace at Coburg, the boys were catechised for an hour. Albert’s responses made a great impression on the spectators, and when asked if he would steadfastly uphold the Evangelical Church he answered in a resolute voice not simply the ‘Yes’ which was expected but added: ‘I and my brother are firmly resolved to remain faithful to the acknowledged truth.’

Albert at sixteen had indeed grown into a model Prince; and few in Coburg seemed to think that his lack of social graces was of great importance.