Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

Rumblings of Revolt

IN APRIL OF THE FOLLOWING YEAR MY LITTLE DAUGHTER WAS born. This was a much easier pregnancy and birth than the others, and I wondered whether one became accustomed to that. That was a happy thought because I seemed to be the sort of woman who would be excessively fertile. In three years I had managed to have as many children.

She was to be Alice Maud, and as she had been born on the Duchess of Gloucester's birthday, she was to be Mary also—after her.

Everything had gone so much more smoothly after Lehzen's departure. Albert had had a thorough examination of the household and had made some astounding economies. I knew that lots of the servants did not like it, for life must have been very easy for them under Lehzen's rule. They grumbled among themselves, I knew. Poor Albert, he was very unpopular with them, but that is often the reward of doing what is right.

For Alice's christening we had to invite Uncle Ernest, although I did so with the utmost reluctance. He was still the bogeyman of my childhood, and I could never feel perfectly at ease when he was in the country. He seemed to be in a state of constant resentment because he had not inherited the crown of England. I did not begrudge him that of Hanover. So why could he not be content now that he was a king? There was conflict between us now because he was claiming Princess Charlotte's jewels. I wore them often for I really had very few of my own—for a queen; and I saw no reason why he should have them, so I refused to give them up. But I thought he might feel a little reconciled if he were asked to act as sponsor for the baby.

My dear sister Feodore was to be another and the apprehension at the prospect of seeing Uncle Ernest was forgotten in the joyous one of having Feodore with me. Albert's brother, Ernest, and Aunt Sophia were to be the other two.

Feodore and I hugged each other; we kissed and studied our faces, entwining our arms as I took her to her room where I sat on the bed and we talked and talked.

“You…my little sister…a mother of three!” she said. “I cannot believe it. I shall never forget the sight of you with your dolls. Live dolls are different, are they not?”

How easy it was to talk to darling Feodore. I was able to tell her of the anguish over Lehzen. She listened and what was so wonderful, she understood.

“I know Lehzen well,” she said. “A wonderful woman…but possessive, and it was only natural that she and Albert should resent each other. Your life, dearest sister, is with Albert … him and the children. It is your family which matters most.”

She loved the new baby who was plump and contented.

“She is a wonderful baby,” I said. “Quieter than the other two. I think she will be a great comfort to me.”

“Vicky is very bright.”

“Indeed, yes. Albert is so pleased with her. I wish Bertie was different. I think he is going to be rather lazy. He just mumbles to himself, shouts, and runs all over the place.”

Feodore laughed. “Bertie is adorable. He is a normal boy. They are the best sort to have.”

“There speaks the wise mother.”

I looked at her lovingly. That lovely willowy figure she had had was no more, for she had grown rather plump; but Feodore would always be beautiful because of her lovely expression. Her face was illuminated by an inner goodness.

She was in complete contrast to Uncle Ernest who radiated malevolence.

He arrived late and after the christening ceremony was over. I wondered whether he did it on purpose. He looked even more evil if less physically able to carry out any wicked intentions. He was rather bent and bald and obviously hard of hearing. Alice behaved perfectly during the ceremony; and everyone said what a lovely child she was.

I had some uneasy moments afterward in the nursery when Uncle Ernest asked to see the children, which I thought rather an odd request, coming from him, for I was sure he was not really interested in them.

Vicky came running up with her usual lack of self-consciousness.

“Where is your eye?” she demanded.

“Lost in action,” replied Uncle Ernest shortly.

“Did someone take it?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

Albert came forward and laid a restraining hand on Vicky's shoulder. I saw him smile; he thought anything Vicky did was very clever and amusing.

The King of Hanover had turned away. “And where is the boy?” he said.

Bertie came forward. He said nothing and I was aware of Albert's frown. Bertie was such a disappointment to him, which was largely due to Vicky's brightness; they made such a contrast. I was always reminding Albert that Bertie was a year younger than Vicky.

I felt a tremor of alarm when Uncle Ernest picked up Bertie and held him at eye level, studying him intently with his one eye. I imagined he would be thinking that this young boy would in all probability be King of England, a title for which Uncle Ernest had lusted all his life.

I glanced at Albert and saw that his thoughts were the same as mine. I felt that everyone in the nursery was waiting for something to happen. It was a most uneasy moment.

Bertie, however, was unperturbed. He stared at the King's empty eye socket with the utmost fascination.

“Looks a healthy little fellow,” said Uncle Ernest.

“He is,” I told him. “He takes after his father.”

“Can't see it,” said Uncle Ernest. “More like our side.”

Vicky was looking up at him in a rather impatient way because Bertie was getting more attention than she was, which was most unusual.

“I'm not just Vicky,” she said. “I am the Princess Royal.”

But Uncle Ernest continued to look at Bertie, and it seemed a long time before he set him down.

I talked to Albert about the incident when we were alone.

“He really alarmed me,” he said, “when he took Bertie up and displayed such an interest in him. He quite ignored Vicky and was not in the least interested in the baby—although he had asked to see the nurseries.”

Albert thought that the only reason he could have been more interested in Bertie than in Vicky was because the boy was heir to the throne, for if he had a general interest in the children, Vicky would surely have been the target for his attention.

It was very sad having to say goodbye to Feodore, but the visit had necessarily to be brief, for Feodore had many duties in her own home.

“We must meet again soon,” I said.

“Why should you not come to us?” asked Feodore. “How I should love to show you my children.”

“We might well do that,” I replied. “We did go to Scotland recently… Albert and I without the children. It was one of the happiest times of my life.”

“Then there is hope,” said Feodore.

People remembered Uncle Ernest's reputation and the rumors he had set in progress about me when I was a child; and we had one or two letters telling of a plot to kidnap the children. Sir Robert Peel took these letters seriously, although they did appear to have been written by mad people. We even had some letters from people who went so far as to say that they proposed to kidnap the children.

All this came out of Uncle Ernest's visit. I wished that I had not invited him to the christening.

We were all a little shaken and very watchful. Albert made the rounds of the nurseries each night himself, for he would trust no one else.

“Remember the boy Jones who paid us a visit,” he said. “He was innocent. Some might not be.”

How glad I was to have Albert to take care of such things.

Mama, whose main interest in life now was the children, was in a state of great anxiety about them. She told Albert of the agonies she had suffered during my childhood when she had feared that wicked Cumberland—as he was then—was plotting to have me poisoned; and how she had watched over me day and night.

“You and Lehzen never left me alone,” I said.

“Oh yes…Lehzen was trustworthy in that respect.”

Mama smiled complacently. Lehzen's influence was now removed and there was dear Albert. Mama doted on Albert. I supposed that was understandable. It was through him that we had become reconciled.

About a week after the christening, Princess Augusta of Cambridge was married to the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz; and there again Uncle Ernest showed he had not lost one bit of his ambition. At the altar steps he tried to step in front of Albert, but Albert would not allow that. He forced himself in front to his rightful position and Uncle Ernest almost fell off the altar steps. I smiled to myself. It was what he deserved. And I was ready for him when the time came to sign the register and he maneuvered himself into a position beside me so that when I had signed he could snatch the pen from me and sign next. In that case his signature would be above that of Albert. But I was too quick for him. I was not going to allow him to sign before Albert. Nor did I want a scene. There were several people standing at the table and in spite of the fact that I was in a dress with a train, which was by no means light, I slipped around to the other side of the table, so that I was immediately beside Albert. I took the pen, signed my name, and quickly handed it to Albert before Uncle Ernest could get around the table and snatch the pen from him.

How Albert and I laughed about it afterward! I was very relieved when Uncle Ernest left.

A VERY PLEASANT time followed. I was often in the nursery, discovering quite maternal instincts I had not known I possessed. But I do not think I was a very motherly woman. The little babies did not greatly interest me; it was only when they talked and were amusing and looked pretty that I wanted to spend a lot of time with them. Alice was a dear baby though. Such a good child! She was so fat that we called her Fatima. She had a contented smile and would lie gurgling and laughing to herself in her cradle. The nurses loved her.

Lady Lyttelton said that Alice adored Bertie and laughed with pleasure every time he came near her. He was very gentle with her, she added, and loved her dearly. I fancied that Bertie was Lady Lyttelton's favorite because she was always making excuses for his backwardness.

I had mentioned this to Albert and his comment was, “I hope that she does not spoil the child. We must watch that.”

I hoped so too, for Lady Lyttelton was so good with the children and they were all extremely fond of her.

Sir Robert Peel was rather anxious about our relationship with France and he thought we ought to try for a rapprochement.

Our new yacht, the Victoria and Albert, was now ready, and as the country's affairs were quieter than they had been for some time, Sir Robert thought it would be a good idea if we took a trip to France to stay with Louis Philippe. I thought it was an excellent proposition; it would mean another holiday with Albert all to myself, for he was getting so involved in politics that I did not see so much of him as I should have liked.

After the Prorogation of Parliament we set out in the yacht. First we cruised round the Devon coast and then crossed to France. The King of France came by barge to meet the yacht, and the shore was lined with people who displayed banners and shouted, “Vive la Reine,” which was very gratifying.

There was a delightful surprise waiting for me. Aunt Louise, Uncle Leopold's wife, who was also the daughter of Louis Philippe, had joined her father's Court in order to help to entertain us.

What a joyous reunion that was, and how we laughed together and recalled those times when she had shown me her beautiful clothes and how I had tried them on and she had advised me about styles and colors.

I always grew sentimental looking back on the old days. Albert said I saw them through a rosy glow. He didn't really believe I could have been so happy with that old dragon Lehzen always with me. There were some things which even Albert did not know.

We were with the King for five days; he took us about the country and there was a fête champêtre. Then we saw some plays which I loved— particularly the comedies at which I laughed heartily.

After we said goodbye to the King of France we took the Prince de Joinville to sea with us and we called at Brighton and stayed at the Pavilion, which amazed the Prince. He had never seen a palace like it, he said. I did not tell him that neither had we!

Then we went back to stay with Uncle Leopold for a short visit, Aunt Louise having left France and joined her husband so that she would be there ready to entertain us in Uncle Leopold's palace as she had in her father's.

Uncle Leopold was overjoyed to see us.

“My dear children!” he cried. “My two favorites! I am so glad I brought you together. What happiness that has given us all.”

Aunt Louise introduced us to her children. Albert was rather taken with Charlotte—perhaps because she was about the same age as his beloved Vicky.

So on that occasion Aunt Louise and I talked of children instead of fashions; and I was so happy to be with those dear people again.

All too soon it was over and we were back at Windsor.

Sir Robert said the visit had been a very useful one.

A pleasant way of doing one's duty, I thought.

A VERY SAD thing happened soon after our trip to France. Lord Melbourne had a stroke. I was desolate when I heard the news and immediately wrote to him in terms of the utmost affection.

Fortunately it was only a slight one, but I wanted to hear frequently of his progress and for him to know that I was thinking of him. I wrote that I should never forget what he had done for me when I was young. He would always be my very dear friend.

I was delighted when he wrote that, apart from one or two small inconveniences, he was almost himself; and I wrote back at once and told him he must come and see me as soon as he was well enough to come up from Brocket.

When he did come, I was rather saddened, though he was as ebullient as ever, and soon his pithy remarks had me laughing almost as much as they had in the old days. I noticed with great sadness that he dragged one foot a little and that an arm seemed slightly impaired. I asked if he was taking care of himself and he said the best tonic he had—or could ever have—was seeing me so well, so happy with my husband and growing family—a wife, a mother, and a great Queen.

Then he looked at me with that expression I remembered so well; the half-tender amused look, with tears in his eyes; and he was once more my own dear Lord M.

Poor Lord Melbourne! Out of the office he had so much enjoyed; growing old was a great trial, for all that he made such an effort to deny it.

I thought of him often. I wrote to him frequently. I told him I should never forget our friendship—nor must I.

IN THE NEW Year we heard that Albert's father had died. We had known he had been ill for some time so it was not entirely unexpected.

Poor Albert was desolate. He wept bitterly and talked to me of his great sorrow.

I did remember that Duke Ernest had not been such a good father as he might have been. Although he had self-righteously divorced Albert's mother, his own morals were by no means of the highest. She may have had one lapse and was branded for that, whereas her husband had been completely promiscuous; and his second marriage had not been a success either. Moreover he had pestered Albert to get me to settle an income on him, which would have put me in a very awkward position had I done so; then he had been furious because we had not called Bertie after him.

No, I could not in my secret heart agree that Albert's father had been such a good man; but Albert seemed to have forgotten his sins now he was dead and so earnestly and so movingly did he talk of his father's virtues to me that I began to believe in them too.

“I shall have to go to the funeral,” said Albert.

“I must come with you,” I replied.

But that was not possible. Sir Robert said it would not do for me to be out of the country at this time.

“It will be the first time we have been separated,” I said. “The thought to me is terrible.”

But in the midst of his grief, Albert had time to think of me.

I was deeply touched when he told me that he had written to Uncle Leopold, asking him if he would spare Aunt Louise to come and stay with me during his absence; and to my great pleasure this was agreed to.

So sadly I said au revoir to Albert, and warmly greeted Aunt Louise. It was wonderful to talk to her about the children.

I was a little annoyed because I was pregnant again and although, as I explained to Aunt Louise, it was wonderful to have children, and so many kings and queens suffered because they could not, I did feel that longer intervals between the bearing of them would have been more desirable.

Aunt Louise helped to lighten the days of separation. Albert and I wrote frequently. I treasured his letters; they mirrored the love we had for each other.

He wrote from Dover.

“Every step takes me farther from you—not a cheerful thought.”

There followed another letter immediately.

My own darling, I have been here about an hour and regret the lost time I might have spent with you. You will, while I write, be getting ready for luncheon and you will find a place vacant where I sat yesterday. In your heart, however, I hope my place will not be vacant. You are even now half a day nearer to seeing me again. By the time you receive this letter you will be a whole one—thirteen more and I am again in your arms. Your most devoted Albert.

But the one I liked best came from Cologne.

“Your picture has been hung everywhere so you look down on me from the walls…”

Of course they were delighted to see him there. They loved him dearly and that did not surprise me.

“Could you witness the happiness my return gave my family,” he wrote, “you would have been amply repaid for the sacrifice of our separation. We have spoken so much of you…

“Farewell, my darling, and fortify yourself with the thought of my speedy return. God's blessing upon you and the dear children…”

There was no doubt in my mind that Albert realized how very much I missed him.

Aunt Louise returned home and Albert was due back at Windsor.

What a joyous reunion! We clung together. The absence was almost worthwhile for the pleasure of seeing each other again. He must go to the nursery; he must marvel over Vicky's charm and cleverness, sigh a little over Bertie's backwardness, and delight in Fatima's placid smile.

Afterward, when we were alone, he told me of the visit; how sad it had been; how he had grieved, remembering his dear Papa who was now laid to rest.

“And how was Ernest?” I asked. “He is, of course, the Duke now.”

“Oh, Ernest was much the same as usual.”

“I hope he is happy in his marriage and has given up his old ways.”

Albert was not sure of that. His stepmother—of whom he had been very fond—had been delighted to see him; and his grandmother had been overwhelmed with emotion.

“But it was sad for her,” said Albert, “for she knew I should soon have to leave her.”

“They all wanted to know about the children, I suppose.”

“Oh yes, we talked of them a great deal, and I remembered some of Vicky's quaint sayings. They were much amused. You would have smiled to see them plying me with questions. My grandmother still calls me her little Alberichen.”

“She must love you dearly.”

“She does indeed. I saw Stockmar.”

“How delighted he must have been!”

“Oh, he was. I often think what we owe him. He has been of great help to us both.”

I agreed fervently.

“Of course he is with his family now and that is what he likes. I have hinted that we should like to see him here. I talked to him of Bertie. I am rather anxious about that boy.”

“Lady Lyttelton thinks highly of him.”

“She is rather a sentimental woman. She is fond of the child.”

“I am glad she is.”

“Yes, yes. But Bertie needs discipline. He will have great responsibilities.”

“Yes…in time.”

“He will have to be trained for them.”

Albert's lips tightened a little. “It is amazing,” he said. “I have scarcely been treated with honor in this country.”

“All that is changing, Albert. I have tried so hard …”

“I know that, my love, but they still look on me as the outsider, the German.”

“People are like that.”

“I am the Queen's husband… that is all. It is amazing to contemplate that that stupid little boy can take precedence over me.”

“Oh…Bertie…I hadn't thought of it.”

“But he will, of course. The Prince of Wales is of greater importance than the Queen's husband.”

“Dear Albert, I wish I could make it otherwise.”

“Oh, it is of no importance. But it is just ironical… that is all.”

But it was important to him, I could see; and I was so sorry and wished I could have made him King. I would have done so immediately if that were possible.

“So,” he went on, “Bertie must be disciplined. Stockmar would know exactly how to handle him.”

“We must try to persuade Stockmar to come,” I said.

IT WAS MY twenty-fifth birthday. I was getting old. Quite a matron. I would soon be the mother of four children.

Albert lovingly congratulated me and brought me his birthday present.

I cried out in joy for it was a portrait of himself. He looked so handsome—but of course not so handsome as he really was. I told him I could not have anything I liked more.

In the background of the picture the artist had painted a group of angels, their rosy fingers holding a medallion. The words on this were, “Heil und Segan.”

“Health and blessing, my darling,” said Albert.

I kissed the portrait, at which he laughed, well contented.

That was a very happy birthday.

ALMOST IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARD we heard that Nicholas the First of Russia was on his way to visit us. I was amazed and not a little disconcerted for my pregnancy had advanced to the seventh month, and at such a time I had neither the strength nor the inclination for such a visit.

Sir Robert said we owed this no doubt to my sojourn with Louis Philippe. The Emperor would not want to see too great a friendship between us and the French.

“I really do wish he had not invited himself,” I said. “I hate to be seen like this… and what if he were shot?”

Sir Robert looked startled.

“There are so many anarchists in the world,” I went on, “and the Russians go in for that sort of thing. I do believe he is a very strange man.”

“His visit will be good for relations between this country and Russia,” said Sir Robert.

And Albert agreed with him.

So I must perforce receive the Emperor. He arrived in his ship, the Black Eagle, and I took him to Windsor Castle, which seemed to me the most suitable place for the visit. He was most impressed by it, and said, in a rather courtly fashion, that it was worthy of me.

I was always delighted when people admired Windsor. After my initial dislike of it, it had become one of my favorite homes. Albert had made me appreciate it. He had loved it from his first sight of it, and the forest was an enchantment to him as it was becoming to me. I smiled to remember the old days when I had hated to leave London because it always seemed more alive than anywhere I knew. Now it seemed noisy, and I missed the wonderful country air which Albert had taught me to appreciate.

I found the Emperor a very strange man. His appearance was quite frightening; his eyelashes were white and his eyes had a stark staring look so that one could see the whites all around the pupils, which made him look a little mad. I had heard that in his youth he had been a very handsome man. I could scarcely believe that.

He was a tough soldierly type but extremely courteous to me, though I must say that when he smiled he looked quite malevolent. He certainly had odd manners. In spite of the fact that I gave him a state bedroom in the castle, he sent his valet down to the stables to procure hay. He had brought with him a leather sack and the hay was stuffed into this; and this was his bed. He was most eccentric.

Sir Robert said we must not offend him and show him great honor during his visit as he was politically important. So I gave myself up to the task of entertaining him. He accompanied me on a review in Windsor Park, and I took him to the races and to the opera. I gave a concert in his honor in Buckingham Palace. Fortunately Joseph Joachim was in England at the time, so I engaged him to perform for the Emperor.

I found it all very tiring, due to my condition, and I went through one of those spells of resentment that descended on me during my pregnancies.

But in spite of his odd soldierly ways, I could not have had a more considerate companion than the Emperor; he was obviously impressed by Albert, and told me he had never seen a more handsome young man, who radiated not only nobility but goodness. Nothing pleased me more than when appreciation for Albert was expressed; and when Sir Robert discussed the uneasy state of Turkey with the Emperor, the latter said that he did not want an inch of Turkish soil for himself, but he would not allow anyone else to have any. Sir Robert thought the visit had been well worthwhile. And not only Sir Robert. In spite of the short notice and the inconvenient time it was universally proclaimed a success. It was yet another example of the fact that when one is a queen, one's royal duties must come before personal inclinations.

I WAS NOW getting to the unwieldy stages of pregnancy and not inclined to much activity. It was unfortunate that at this time a crisis should arise in the government.

The idea of losing Sir Robert Peel was now almost as alarming to me as, such a short while ago, it seemed, it had been of losing Lord Melbourne.

There was trouble everywhere. Indeed that seemed to be the usual state of parliaments. I had a notion that politicians were more concerned with their own advantage than they were for the country, for every time some trouble arose the opposition was always ready to put the entire blame for it on the government in power, instead of combining their energies with those of the government in an effort to put it right.

There was trouble in Ireland. When was there not? The French had imprisoned the British ambassador on the island of Tahiti, which they had recently occupied and this meant that our relations with France had deteriorated so considerably since I had enjoyed my visit to Louis Philippe that it was feared there might be war between our two countries. This was the last thing we wanted, and Sir Robert said we must do our best to improve relations.

The most significant of all was the defeat of the government in a proposal to reduce the tax on sugar. This was particularly disagreeable because the defeat had been brought about by rebels in the Tory party.

I was incensed. I was in no fit state to be worried; and if the government were defeated and had to go to the country, a Whig ministry might be formed and I should lose Sir Robert.

It seemed ironical that I should have once bemoaned the loss of the Whigs and was now alarmed that they should come back into power. But it was not the party that was of such importance to me; it was the leaders. I should never, of course, feel the same emotional attachment to Sir Robert as I had to Lord Melbourne. That would be impossible now that Albert was beside me. But Albert had opened my eyes and made me see what a wonderful man we had in Sir Robert; and the thought of losing him worried me considerably.

Sir Robert told us all about it. There was a group of rebels in the Tory party; and it was due to this that the crisis had arisen.

“Who are these rebels?” I asked.

“There is a certain Benjamin Disraeli,” Sir Robert told us. “He is an odd fellow, and I believe one to be watched.”

“Most certainly he is, if he is going to attempt to bring about the fall of my government,” I retorted grimly.

“He is Jewish, and I would say very persistent. He was returned for Shrewsbury and he had the temerity to ask for a government post in the new ministry. I refused and he did not greatly care for that.”

“He was resentful, I daresay,” said Albert.

“He has a very high opinion of himself. A strange fellow. He has published a book. Sybil. The theme of this was that the rights of labor are as sacred as the rights of property. He is particularly articulate. He married Wyndham Lewis's widow, who brought him her fortune.”

“He sounds a most unsatisfactory type of person,” I said.

“She herself wrote to me extolling her husband,” said Sir Robert. “She said how desirous he was of a place in the government.”

“She would appear to be fond of him,” I put in.

“It is hardly the way ministerial posts are given,” added Albert.

“I think, nevertheless,” went on Sir Robert, “he is a man to be watched.”

“A troublemaker,” I said. “I hope he gets what he deserves.”

There was great excitement everywhere because it was generally believed that the government would not survive the vote of no confidence. However, that little scare came to nothing. Men like that rebel Disraeli might want to oppose their leader, but the last thing they wanted was to see the Whigs in power; and at the critical moment the rebels supported the Prime Minister; and the government was saved.

I could now give myself up to preparations for my confinement.

August came, hot and stifling, and with it my fourth child. It was another boy. We called him Alfred and Ernest—after Albert's father and brother—and Albert after his father.

Two boys and two girls. Surely that was an adequate family.

Now I must have a rest from the wearisome business.

BEFORE THE MONTH was out we had another royal visitor. This time it was the Prince of Prussia, brother to the King. I did not know then that he was to become the first Emperor of Germany.

We took a great liking to each other. Albert and he were immediately good friends, having so much in common. He was interested in the children and Vicky made a very good impression. Indeed everyone was amazed by her good looks and intelligence. Albert was growing more and more proud of her.

When the Prince left, Albert thought I needed a holiday. That year we had acquired Osborne House—a dear little place which had always fascinated me in the days when Mama and I stayed at Norris Castle on the Isle of Wight. Close to the castle was a copse called Money Copse. It was said that during the Civil War the owner of Osborne House had buried his money in the copse. It had been searched for innumerable times but never come to light. I doubted it ever would, but it added something to the place.

We had talked over the matter of having a little house to which we could retire when we were in need of a little solitude, and the Prime Minister had thought it an excellent idea to buy Osborne House. The only thing I had against it was that it had once belonged to Sir John Conroy. But I was ready to forget that because I had always liked it. Its one drawback was that the odious man had once lived there, but as he had sold it some time before, that could no longer be held against it.

Albert was very interested and immediately started to make plans for improving it. He was very clever at that sort of thing; and he said that the position was so excellent that it was a pity it was so small and unworthy of me.

However, when a holiday was suggested—and I did feel I needed one after the ordeal through which I had just passed—I immediately thought of Osborne.

But Albert had another idea.

“You remember how much we enjoyed our visits to Scotland, my love? Why do we not take another tour of that delightful country. Moreover, you should become better acquainted with your subjects in the North.”

The outcome of that was our visit to Blair Athole.

When she heard we were going, Vicky declared she wanted to come too.

“Oh no, my darling,” I said. “This is just to be Papa and Mama.”

“Vicky too,” said Vicky imperiously.

Albert took her onto his knee and explained to her that Mama needed a rest, and to have Papa to herself to look after her.

“I will look after Mama, too,” said Vicky adorably; and Albert was overcome by emotion.

She was not in the least afraid of him, as I believe poor Bertie was. He had never been very articulate and now his speech was marred by a stammer, which seemed worse in Albert's presence.

Vicky put her arms around Albert's neck and her lips to his ear. He smiled indulgently and stroked her hair.

“Please, Papa… please let me come,” I heard her say.

“I am sorry, Liebchen …”

Tears welled up in Vicky's eyes. She wept becomingly—quite different from Bertie's bawling.

Albert looked at me and I thought he was going to burst into tears himself. How he loved his daughter.

Later he said to me, “I do not see why we should not take Vicky.”

I burst out laughing. “She is a witch,” I said, “and you, my dear Albert, are under her spell.”

“She is the most adorable creature. She is so like you, my love.”

That was irresistible. We decided Vicky should come with us.

This threw her into transports of joy, and no doubt she went to the nursery to boast about it. Bertie demanded to come.

When he heard he could not he lay on the floor and kicked and screamed. Lady Lyttelton tried to comfort him, but Albert happened to hear of it.

I am sorry to say this resulted in a beating for Bertie. I was very upset because he was so young, but Albert said it was necessary to inflict punishment sometimes. It was wrong to do otherwise. One always had to do the right thing by children; and it was quite clear that Bertie was going to need special vigilance. This hurt him, he declared, more than it hurt the child.

Lady Lyttelton was so upset I thought she might resign her post. As a matter of fact I think she would have done so had she not thought her presence there was necessary to protect Bertie.

“He is so young, Ma'am,” she kept saying to me. “He is only a baby.”

“Dear Lady Lyttelton,” I replied, “I know how fond you are of all the children, but Bertie's father knows what is best for him. Bertie will have a great position to uphold and he must be prepared for it.”

I had to admit that I hated to hear Bertie's sobs; but I had convinced myself that Albert was right and Bertie was in need of special correction.

We were up at a quarter to six on that morning in the month of September.

Vicky was in a state of great excitement and all ready to leave. Fatima and Baby Alfred were brought down to say goodbye and with them was a very subdued Bertie. By seven we were ready to get into the carriage and go to the railroad to take us to Paddington where our carriage was waiting for the journey to Woolwich.

As we left I saw Bertie grimace at Vicky in a most unpleasant way but I did not call Albert's attention to that. It seemed a pity to spoil the farewells, and all Albert could do was order some punishment I was sure Lady Lyttelton would see was not carried out.

When we arrived at the port of Dundee two days later, a red carpet was laid down for us to step on as we came ashore and we walked out, I holding Albert's arm while he held Vicky's hand.

What a welcome we were given in Dundee! And it was a wonderful moment arriving at Lord Camperdown's place where we were met by Lady Camperdown and Lady Duncan, who had her little boy with her. The little boy looked splendid in his tartan Highland dress—like a little man. He carried a basket of fruit and flowers that he gave to Vicky. She received it with great dignity and I saw Albert's eyes shine with pride.

I told him afterward that I was reminded of the visits I had made with Mama when I was a young Princess.

Oh, the beautiful Highlands! I have a special feeling for them. So indeed had Albert. I was so glad that he had taught me to appreciate the country. The journey was breathtakingly beautiful. We passed through Dunkeld, Cupar Angus, Pitlochrie to the magnificent Pass of Killiecrankie from which great height we could look down on wooded hills. Albert was absolutely enchanted.

Blair Athole, proved to be only four or five miles from Killiecrankie Pass. At the gates of Blair Castle Lord and Lady Glenlyon were waiting with their little boy to receive us.

What a glorious holiday that was! I would take walks with Albert and he would drive Vicky and me out in the pony phaeton. I had never seen such wild and beautiful country. Albert drew our attention to the points of interest. He was so anxious that we should miss nothing. I did a good deal of sketching and Albert went deer stalking. On one occasion I thought he was lost on the moors. However, all was well.

Vicky loved every minute. She was feeling very grown up to accompany Papa and Mama on one of their journeys. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, and when I said I was sure she was growing more plump, Albert delightedly agreed with me.

Albert said she must learn Gaelic and Vicky who was always so interested in everything about her—so different from sluggish Bertie—immediately began to do so. Albert thought she was wonderful and he laughed loudly at her efforts to pronounce the names of the mountains.

How he delighted in that child and how happy I was to have given her to him!

But all good things come to an end and very soon—too soon—we had to return to Buckingham Palace.

NO SOONER HAD we returned than Sir Robert told us we must receive Louis Philippe. Albert and I were taken aback as relations with France were very uneasy over the Tahiti affair. But Sir Robert explained that he was very eager to keep relations with the French on a cordial basis and this would be very much a political visit.

Albert saw the point at once and said we should do our part.

I was rather uneasy when I heard there was an outcry against the visit in the French Press; however, the King had decided to come accompanied by his foreign minister Monsieur Guizot.

Albert went to Portsmouth, with the Duke of Wellington, to give the King an official welcome, and then they brought him to Windsor where we received him in the state apartments. He embraced me very warmly in a most paternal manner. He was determined to be friendly, and a very charming man he was. He said at once that he had not forgotten the many kindnesses he had had in England when he had lived among us in exile from his country, and how pained he was always when differences arose between our two countries.

That was a promising start, and I was sure that entertaining the King of France was not going to be as difficult as we had feared.

“You are the first King of France to come on a visit to a sovereign of this country,” I reminded him, as I led him up the grand staircase.

“I hope this visit will bring good fruits to us both,” he replied; then he commented on the grandeur of the castle.

We went to the white rooms where we had luncheon. Mama was present. She was always with us now. Albert said that was as it should be, and I agreed with him and was very happy to put the past behind me.

At dinner we told the King about our visit to Blair Athole, for we had only been returned a week.

“I should have delayed my visit perhaps,” said Louis Philippe.

“Indeed not,” I assured him. “Being home after revelling in that Highland scenery did seem a little dull… but your visit has enlivened us a great deal.”

He was very grateful for these shows of affection, and said the most flattering things about the castle.

Albert commented on how many royal suites we had seen in the castle—that of the King of Prussia, the Emperor of Russia, the Duke of Saxony—and now the King of France.

Vicky was brought in and introduced to the King. She behaved impeccably and he thought her as delightful as the castle.

Later there were talks between Sir Robert Peel with Lord Aberdeen, our Foreign Secretary, and Louis Philippe and Guizot. Albert and I were present.

Louis Philippe was very frank. He talked about Tahiti and the trouble there and hinted that we English had become a little too excited about it. The French, he said, did not understand the principles of negotiations as the English did; but they liked to make a clatter.

“Like postilions,” he said with a smile. “And they do not stop to consider the bad consequences this can have. They are less calm than you English. But war…no…no… no! France cannot make war on England, the Triton of the Seas… not on England who has the greatest empire in the world.”

I basked in such talk and thought how pleasant it was to be able to deal with matters of state in such a civilized manner.

So the King dismissed the Tahiti affair.

“I would fain see it at the bottom of the sea,” he said. “All they want from it is the whalers. I hope to get rid of it altogether.”

We showed him the surrounding country and took him to Hampton Court; and the King had an understandable desire to see the house in which he had stayed during his exile. So we drove there and afterward to Claremont.

When we returned to Windsor a crowd was waiting and they shouted loyal greetings. I was glad the people bore no animosity to Louis Philippe and cheered him generously.

I invested him with the Garter.

It was a really most successful visit. Sir Robert was delighted and I felt gratified that it had gone off so well. What really pleased me most was Louis Philippe's feelings for Albert whom it was clear he admired very much.

“He will do wonders,” he said to me. “He is so wise. He does not push himself forward. He grows so much upon acquaintance and will always give you good advice.”

Fervently I agreed, and I told him that I had received a very similar comment from the Emperor of Russia.

I glowed with pleasure as I always did when people showed appreciation of my beloved Albert.

At last the visit was over and it was time for the King of France to leave us. Albert and I went with him to Portsmouth but when we arrived there the rain was teeming down and the gales blowing so hard that it would have been dangerous for the King to have embarked.

Albert thought it would have been better for him to have made the shorter crossing from Dover to Calais, and ascertaining that the weather was better there, in his usual efficient manner, he made all the arrangements for the switch; and considering the King's entourage and all that had to be done on the spur of the moment, this was no mean feat.

But then Albert was so wonderful at all organization.

There was great disappointment at Portsmouth naturally, but everyone realized that this was for the best.

“It is only in this admirable country that such a thing could be brought about with so little bustle,” said the King of France.

“Albert never makes difficulties,” I said proudly. “He calmly does what others think is impossible.”

“He is the finest of young men. He deserves you and you deserve him.”

That was a charming thing to say and it sealed the success of the visit for me.

I went aboard the ship and delighted the French by proposing the King's health and the friendship between our two nations.

Then he sailed away.

There was no doubt about it—the people were pleased with me, far more than they had been since the unfortunate death of Flora Hastings. I did believe that they had taken me back completely into their favor.

Kind and flattering comments were made in the papers. They said no sovereign was more loved than I was. I was sure that was due to my happy domestic life.

I said to Albert, “It is an example to them all.”

And he agreed.

This was the time of visits and there followed the most exciting of them all. I had rarely seen Albert so thrilled. He was taking me to see his homeland. Albert had so many happy memories of his childhood. I believed he would never think any trees as beautiful as those of the Thuringian Forest, no mountains to compare with those he had known in his youth.

We left the children at Osborne. They loved the sea and always seemed to benefit from the beautiful air. They were sad that we were going. Vicky had desperately pleaded to come with us and at one point I had thought that Albert was on the point of relenting; but he decided that she was too young for all the traveling there would have to be; and in spite of her entreaties we decided to leave her with the others.

Vicky and Alice were with me on that August morning as I dressed.

Then we had breakfast with the four children, and Lady Lyttelton and I had a last talk about them. I knew I could leave them safely in her hands for she was so devoted to them; the only thing was that Albert feared she would spoil Bertie toward whom she had taken up a kind of protective attitude; sometimes almost as though she were sheltering him from us! Good woman that she was, Albert said she was over-sentimental, and did not entirely understand the need for discipline, especially in the case of a child by nature rebellious.

We went from Osborne to Buckingham Palace, which seemed quiet without the children. Sir Robert called to assure us that we need have no qualms about the state of the country. His measures with the Irish were proving effective; and there was nothing to worry about.

We had a rough passage and poor Albert suffered somewhat; but I was sure my presence was a comfort to him, and the crossing was not really of long duration.

Unfortunately when we arrived at Antwerp the rain was teeming down but the people, who were determined to welcome us, had set up triangular illuminations on tall poles, which made a fine show.

We awoke next morning to driving rain, and even as we left the yacht for the royal carriage, which Uncle Leopold had sent for us, we were almost swept off our feet.

I was reminded of my visit two years before.

“It looks so different from home,” I said to Albert; and indeed it did. I watched the women in their hats and caps and cloaks with their brass jugs going to market; and I wished I had my sketchbook handy. I should have liked to put them on paper.

What joy to find Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise waiting for us at Malines! We embraced with emotion and there was so much to discuss. They were to accompany us to Verviers, and Uncle Leopold had arranged that a great welcome should be given us in all the towns through which we passed.

Uncle Leopold was proud of his country and it was wonderful to be with him and Aunt Louise. We talked endlessly and Uncle told us once more how delighted he was to see Albert and me living together in such obvious contentment.

“Never forget,” he said, “that I worked for your union from the day both of you were born. I have seen a dream come true.”

I told him that Albert and I could never be grateful enough.

I felt sorry for those occasions when I had thought that Uncle Leopold was interfering and trying to make me act against the advice of my ministers. I could never have done that and he must know it; but he had been very persuasive and sometimes a little hurt. And although I was sorry I knew it had been inevitable; and I should be eternally grateful to him for bringing Albert and me together.

It was sad, as always, saying goodbye to them and after we had done so we were met at Aix-la-Chapelle by the King of Prussia and members of his family.

How I loved Germany! In some measure perhaps this was because of Albert's feeling for it. It was his homeland.

The King of Prussia was determined that we should be impressed by his country, and arrangements had been made for our entertainment.

From the Palace we watched the splendid Zapfenstreich, the tattoo in which five hundred military musicians took part, the scene being illuminated by torches and lamps of colored glass. I was delighted when they played, “God Save the Queen.”

We had to see the magnificent surrounding country, the view of Kreuzberg, a convent high on a hill, and the seven mountains, the Sieben Gebirge. It gave me a wonderful feeling of exultation; and I saw that Albert was deeply moved by my reaction to his country.

One of the highlights was the banquet at which the King gave a most stirring and heartening speech.

“Fill your glasses,” he said. “There is a word of inexpressible sweetness to British as well as to German hearts. Thirty years ago it echoed in the heights of Waterloo from British and German tongues, after days of hot and desperate fighting, to mark the glorious triumph of our brotherhood in arms. Now it resounds on the banks of our fair Rhine, amid the blessings of that peace which was the hallowed fruit of the great conflict. The word is Victoria. Gentlemen drink to the health of Her Majesty the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and to that of her august Consort.”

I was so moved that I turned to the King and kissed him. It was an impulsive action but it resulted in ringing applause.

It was a truly great occasion.

Being in Germany there was a great deal of music to be enjoyed, which was acceptable both to me and to Albert; and when we arrived in Bonn the Beethoven Festival was being celebrated.

There was a concert—but alas not so much Beethoven as I should have liked. There was only a part of one of the symphonies brought into a cantata by Liszt, and the overture to Egmont. There were many students present, long-haired and bearded with dashing mustaches, many of them sporting the Säbelhiebe, the sword cut in their faces of which they were so proud as these were an insignia of their exploits in the art of dueling.

But what Albert was looking forward to with the greatest pleasure, and naturally I shared his feelings, was the arrival at Coburg. At the frontier there were flags and crowds of cheering people; and there was Ernest, now the Duke, looking splendid in full uniform waiting to greet us.

After an emotional reunion between the brothers, Albert and I got into an open carriage, drawn by six horses, to begin our drive.

The women were all dressed in costumes with pointed caps and numerous petticoats, and the men wore leather breeches. The girls carried wreaths of flowers. It was charming.

With Ernest we went to Ketschendorf which had been the residence of our dear dead grandmother, of whom Albert had been so fond. To our great joy Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise were there.

We rode to the palace. There girls in white, wearing green scarves, were waiting for us with flowers and complimentary verses; I was introduced to someone who was of special interest to me—Ober-superintendent Genzler—because he had officiated at the marriage of my parents and had christened and confirmed Albert and Ernest.

To be in that beautiful country—Albert's country—to see his emotion, to listen to tales of his childhood, that seemed to bring us closer together. I did a great deal of sketching during those halcyon days; I felt I wanted to catch every important detail and hold it forever. The weather was perfect—long hot days merging into each other. Albert's birthday came and we were so happy to celebrate it, not only in his country, but in the actual place of his birth, Rosenau. Albert had talked of it so much that I felt I knew it before I saw it. It was twelve years since he had spent a birthday there. There was so much to show me: the forest where he had hunted; the room where he and Ernest had studied; the holes in the wallpaper where they had pricked it while fencing—relics of a childhood of which I felt faintly jealous because I had not been there to share it.

It was a marvelous birthday. The band played in the morning to welcome the day. It was wonderful to listen to a Chorale and Reveil and O Isis and Osirus from The Magic Flute.

Helped by Ernest and Alexandrina I had arranged the table dressed with flowers on which I had placed the presents. Mama was there. She had been visiting relatives in Germany so she joined us. In the old days that would have thrown a damper over the proceedings. Not now. Albert was delighted to see her and so was I.

The birthday celebrations continued during the morning, and both Albert and I were glad when they were over to leave us free to go for a walk alone.

How we talked! He told me that it was a dream of his that Vicky should marry into Germany.

I said, “I believe you love Vicky more than me. You talk of her constantly.”

Albert was a little shocked. “She is our daughter!” he said reproachfully.

“Of course. Of course. Stupid of me. But then you know how I am. I say the first thing that comes into my head.”

Albert smiled and patted my hand. “As long as you know it, my dear, you can overcome it. I was saying I want Vicky to marry into Germany. I want her to be Queen of Prussia.”

I glowed with pleasure. What a wonderful man he was! His thoughts were always for his family.

“I sounded out the King,” he went on. “He is interested.”

“She is young yet.”

“It is never too soon to think of these matters. There must be a meeting between her and young Frederick.”

“It is looking far ahead. I want to enjoy this moment. You and I alone, Albert … in your beloved forest.”

He smiled at me indulgently.

Oh, that was a perfect day, one I shall remember for the rest of my life—a perfect day, with perfect weather, in perfect surroundings, with the most perfect of men.

How sad I was to leave Rosenau and Germany! There were tears and pleadings that there should be more meetings. Poor Grandmama SaxeCoburg was almost prostrate with grief.

On the way home we must visit the King of France. Sir Robert had impressed on us that that was of the utmost importance. France would be well aware of the trip to Germany, and as we had seen the Russians, there must be an even balance of these visits. I was not a young woman visiting her relatives; I was the State.

So at Treport we met Louis Philippe and we were joined there by Lord Aberdeen and Lord Liverpool; and the Prince de Joinville and Monsieur Guizot were with the King.

We were taken to the château and with a certain pride were shown into the Galerie Victoria which had been adorned with pictures including one depicting the King's visit to Windsor and two beautiful Winterhalter portraits of myself and Albert. For my special pleasure, knowing my love for music, he had brought the ninety-four members of the Opéra Comique from Paris to entertain us. They performed Boïeldieu's one-act opera Le Nouveau Seigneur and Grétry's Le Roi Richard, which were most amusing and entertaining.

The following day Lord Aberdeen and I had an important conversation about Spanish affairs which were giving some concern to England; and the King was most agreeable and friendly which Lord Aberdeen thought very satisfactory.

On the next day we sailed for home. It was a wonderful finale, for the sea was exquisitely blue and as calm as a lake.

It had been a most exhilarating experience: I had enjoyed every moment; but what a joy it was to embark on the dear familiar beach near Osborne!

Lady Lyttelton was at the door with all the children waiting to greet us.

Vicky ran straight into Albert's arms; and then we fondly embraced them all.

They looked so fat and well—and above all, happy to have us back.

DEAR OSBORNE! WHAT a joy it was to be there! I looked forward to lazy days with drives and alfresco meals with the children and talks with Albert. I told him that there were many times when I wished I were not a queen and that he were merely a country gentleman so that we could live a family life without onerous duties.

They were wonderful days which followed the visit. We talked to the children and Albert described to Vicky the beautiful mountains and forests and the dear kind German people; and how one day he was going to take her to Rosenau and show her his childhood home. He would take her to visit the Prussian royal family of whom he was very fond, and he was sure she was going to be fond of them too.

Such halcyon days could not remain so for long and we were soon plunged into trouble.

It had been a disastrous summer. The rain had spoiled the crops and particularly the potatoes in Ireland. There was great famine there.

Sir Robert Peel was in a dilemma. The Corn Laws had remained unaltered since 1842, but Sir Robert's mind was changing. He no longer believed in protection for agriculture and was convinced that the experiment had been a failure. Corn must be exported to Ireland, he said, to take the place of the potato crop; but unfortunately the English harvest had been poor. Sir Robert believed that the Corn Laws should be suspended and he would never be a party to their being reimposed.

He said firmly, “The remedy is the removal of all impediments to the import of all kinds of human food—that is, the total and absolute repeal for ever on all duties on all articles of sustenance.”

There was much discussion. It was a quite extraordinary situation, for Peel stood against his own party. He wanted to introduce a measure involving the ultimate repeal of the Corn Laws.

I was very sad when Sir Robert came to me and said he must tender his resignation and once more I was reminded of that occasion when Lord Melbourne had come to me with the same story. I was older now, more in command of my feelings, thanks to Albert who had made me so much more restrained; and in any case, much as I admired Sir Robert as a very great statesman—greater I had to admit than Lord Melbourne—I did not have the tender feelings for him that I had had for my first Prime Minister.

Sir Robert told me that I should ask Lord John Russell to take his place.

I was afraid the government would fall and the Whigs come back. How strange that I had once thought of the Whigs as my government!

I was pleased when Lord John Russell refused and Sir Robert remained in office. But our troubles were by no means over. The Tories were against their leader. He stood alone among them fighting for the Repeal of the Corn Laws—with the Opposition firmly behind him.

Albert said there never could have been such a case before, and Albert stood with Sir Robert, as I did.

I had now confirmed what I had suspected and I must say that my mind was rather taken up with my own problems for I was pregnant once more. The fact made me irritable and very quick-tempered.

I complained bitterly to Albert, and although he was sympathetic, I fancied he was not at all displeased. He delighted in his growing family which, I pointed out, was all very well for him. He did not have to endure those wretched months of discomfort culminating in an excruciating ordeal.

He said that it was one of the duties that God had ordained women should carry out. At which I said, most irreligiously, that God was obviously of the male gender, which reminded me of Lord Melbourne, for it was the kind of remark he would have made; and then we should have laughed together. But Albert was deeply shocked—and somehow he made me feel ashamed. So I grew calmer and said that my temper was as bad as ever, to which Albert replied that he did believe that, under his guidance, the outbursts occurred less frequently.

I tried hard to be reconciled and thought of the joys children brought.

“But this must be the last,” I said.

And Albert replied, “It is in God's hands.”

There was a great deal of unrest in the country. Sir Robert looked worn out as well he might be. Then Albert brought down a storm of abuse on his head by going to the House of Commons when the debate on the Corn Laws was in progress. He had had many discussions with Sir Robert and was vitally interested in the matter. His presence, of course, was noted and then the trouble started.

What right had foreigners in the House of Commons? The House of Commons was for elected Members. Was the Prince showing his approval of Peel, who was known to be a friend of his? The country would not tolerate such conduct. It must be made clear to Prince Albert that he must never again enter the House of Commons without invitation.

It was depressing that, after all he had done, after his interest in affairs, and the fact that he was the father of the heir to the throne, they called him a foreigner.

I felt disheartened. All this—and pregnancy too!

With the Whigs firmly behind him, Sir Robert brought about the Repeal of the Corn Laws. But the government was doomed to defeat. On the same day that the Bill was passed, the government was brought down over the Irish Bill. Peel was out of office and little John Russell came to Windsor. He had been able to form a government this time and the Whigs were back in power.

BERTIE WAS GIVING us a great deal of concern. He was a difficult boy. He was not at all bright at his lessons; he was constantly in trouble in spite of the fact that Lady Lyttelton and Miss Hildyard, the governess, were always trying to shield him.

Of course Vicky's cleverness put him at a disadvantage. I once said to Albert that, but for Vicky, he would seem quite an ordinary boy.

Albert agreed that Vicky was exceptionally bright but in his opinion Bertie was exceptionally dull. There was that unfortunate stutter. The Prince of Wales stuttering! It was unheard of.

“Lady Lyttelton thinks it is due to nervousness,” I said. “She insists that when she is alone with him he hardly ever does it.”

“Then he can stop it if he wishes.”

“I believe he tries, Albert.”

“The cane will make him try harder.”

I used to hate it when Bertie was beaten—a task Albert nobly undertook himself. Bertie grew a little defiant; he said it wasn't fair.

I talked to him and told him what a good father he had, a father who suffered more than he did when punishment was necessary.

Bertie said, “Papa only has to stop hurting me and then he won't have to suffer.”

I tried to explain that God sometimes had to inflict suffering on people and it was always for their own good. All Bertie had to do was be a better boy.

I talked to Lady Lyttelton. She pursed her lips and looked stubborn. I was very fond of her and in a way I was glad she was rather soft. I knew that after one of the punishments, so necessarily inflicted by Albert, she went in and cuddled Bertie and comforted him. She had some special ointment for the weals.

I should have told Albert, of course, but I knew he would have stopped that comforting, and although I knew he was right, I am afraid I was a little weak too; and after all Bertie was not so very old.

Albert had entreated Stockmar to come to England as he wished to consult him very earnestly about his eldest son; and to our joy Stockmar came.

We went to Windsor with him and there we discussed Bertie's conduct. Albert said sadly that he had been forced to administer the cane, which was so very distressing for him, and moreover, so far, it had had little effect on the boy.

Stockmar thought we had been too soft with him. “You tell me there are women in the nursery and the schoolroom. Women are notoriously soft. There is no doubt that they pamper the boy. I should like to see the schoolroom and speak to these ladies who are in charge of it.”

We took him to the schoolroom.

Vicky was seated at the table writing. Bertie was beside her and Alice was there too.

As we entered they all rose. Vicky and Alice curtsied and Bertie bowed. They looked very sweet—except Bertie who had a smudge on his blouse.

“Children,” I said, “this is a great friend of Papa's and mine, Baron Stockmar.”

The children looked at the Baron, and I could see they did not greatly take to him.

“Vicky…Bertie…,” said Albert, and they came forward.

“Our daughter,” said Albert proudly.

Vicky smiled. “This is Bertie.”

“The backward one,” said the Baron, at which Bertie flinched.

“He does badly because he does not try,” said Albert.

I saw a defiant look creeping into Bertie's face. Oh dear, I thought, he is going to be difficult.

Vicky who could not bear to have the attention turned from her said, “I am not backward. I am very good…at everything.”

Albert smiled and laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him charmingly, sure of his approval.

“You must not speak until the Baron addresses you, my child,” said Albert.

“Why not?” asked Vicky.

Albert looked at me in tender exasperation.

“Because Papa says so,” I told her.

“Oh,” she said. “The boy seems sullen,” said the Baron. “Perhaps I should see his work.”

Miss Hildyard was rather flustered. She began talking of Bertie's qualities. She thought he had a good imagination. He was quite inventive. But the Baron thought that meant he had a tendency to lie.

“The younger children adore him,” said Miss Hildyard. “It is good to see their little faces light up when he comes in. He makes up games for them and can amuse them for hours. They love him dearly as,” she looked at us defiantly, “we all do.”

“Yes, yes,” said Stockmar impatiently. “I do not like overmuch what I hear.”

“I am sure,” Miss Hildyard went on, “that Bertie will be good at his lessons…given time.”

The Baron said he had heard and seen enough and would like to talk in private with Albert and me.

When we were alone he said, “How different he is from you, Prince Albert. I remember well how serious you were. I am afraid the boy takes after some of his Hanoverian ancestors. That must make us very watchful.”

“I want him to grow up exactly like his father,” I said.

“We shall have to work hard to bring about that miracle,” said Stockmar.

“We were hoping you might advise us,” I said

“In the first place he is surrounded by women, and saving Your Majesty's presence, women are too lenient where children are concerned. They spare the rod and spoil the child.”

“So I have always thought,” said Albert.

Stockmar went on, “We shall take him from the care of that woman, Miss Hildyard.”

“She is a very clever woman,” I said.

“Maybe she is but she is no match for a slothful, wayward boy. I propose that we engage a tutor. I will immediately look for the right man, and when I have found him, I will impress on him the need for sternest discipline.”

“Dear Baron,” I said, “I knew you would find the solution.”

It was not long before Stockmar came to tell us that he had engaged Henry Birch, Rector of Prestwich, who had taught at Eton.

The fact of his calling made him appear to be eminently suitable and I was delighted.

In due course Henry Birch arrived and eagerly we awaited results.

HE WAS CLEARLY pleased by the appointment.

Albert and I, with the Baron, took him to the schoolroom.

“Here is the Prince of Wales,” I said. “Come, Bertie, and greet your new tutor.”

Bertie came forward eyeing Mr. Birch with the utmost suspicion.

“You will find the Prince of Wales somewhat backward,” said Stockmar. “He is not given to study. He needs to be prodded. I have worked out a curriculum with His Highness, the Prince, and I am sure that, if you will follow it, you cannot go wrong. You will need to be very firm and Her Majesty and the Prince give you the right to punish however severely you may deem necessary.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Birch, “I hope that will not be necessary.”

I could see Bertie was growing a little fearful and I was not really surprised. In my heart I thought there was no need to give the child such a reputation before Mr. Birch had had a chance of finding out for himself.

Albert was saying, “I have, on occasions, had to whip Bertie myself, which was most distressing to me.”

Bertie looked dismayed as though he was expecting the cane to be brought out immediately, and I must say I was rather glad when the meeting was over.

Mr. Birch remained behind with Bertie; and we all left him to discuss our impressions.

It had not been possible to assess Mr. Birch, but as the Baron said, his calling gave him a certain standing; and Albert said that as the Baron had chosen him, he was sure the choice would prove satisfactory.

And I believe it was. Mr. Birch reported that Bertie was by no means dull. His interest was easily aroused; he was improving in his lessons and was finding study quite absorbing.

I saw Bertie once or twice with his tutor. Bertie was smiling happily; he had lost his stutter; and it was clear to me that he was not in the least in awe of Mr. Birch.

I did not tell Albert this because I thought that he might be of the opinion that the boy should be afraid of his tutor if the tutor was doing his work properly; but in view of the progress he was making Albert did not raise this point.

As for Lady Lyttelton she seemed very happy about the arrangements. She could not say enough that was good about Mr. Birch.

I was very pleased. I hoped there would be no more trouble. It was so distressing for Albert to have to chastise Bertie.

OSBORNE WAS A great consolation during those difficult days.

We had decided that charming as it was, it was scarcely fit for a royal residence; and Albert was planning extensive alterations.

As everything Albert did was done with absolute thoroughness, he was completely absorbed in the project.

He was in consultation with Thomas Cubitt, that very modern builder, and they discussed the alterations at length before the plans were made.

The Solent reminded Albert of the Bay of Naples.

“So,” he said, “we will have a Neapolitan villa—high towers, with perhaps a loggia on the first floor. There should be a pavilion wing and two eastern wings, with accommodation for servants and officials of the country who may have to come down from time to time.”

Albert had worked out how all this should be paid for. I had sold the Pavilion at Brighton to the Brighton Town Commissioners; and thanks to all the savings Albert had made on the household economies at Buckingham Palace, we had about a quarter of a million pounds to spend on this new Osborne.

Albert found great pleasure, not only in the rebuilding, but in the laying out of the gardens. He had tried to work on those of Buckingham Palace but the Commissioners had made such a fuss. Here it was different. We had our own house. I even had my own bathing-machine on the beach; it had a curtained veranda and was really charming. Albert had fir trees—Christmas trees, we called them now—imported from Germany; and we had a playroom sent over from Switzerland that we called the Swiss Cottage; and as he was anxious that the children should not be idle here, the girls learned to cook and do all sorts of domestic tasks, while the boys had tools and did woodwork. That was later on though.

We could see the ships sailing by and Albert said that perhaps the Prince of Wales would be impressed by them and want to join the Navy.

Osborne, the scene of many a delightful holiday, was precious to me because of Albert's creations.

While the work was progressing, he was constantly inspecting it. He would go out, even at night, because some little detail occurred to him.

There was an amusing incident that happened one night when he had thought of something he wanted to see in the grounds and had gone out in the dark to look at it.

A policeman, seeing him, arrested him.

Albert protested, but the policeman refused to listen to him; and as the servants' quarters were quite near, he took Albert to them.

The poor policeman was overcome with shame.

The next day Albert summoned him to appear before him. Albert was unsmiling and I am sure the poor man thought he was going to lose his job. Then Albert commended him on his prompt action and told him that he had recommended him for promotion.

The poor man went away bemused. Albert and I laughed a great deal over the incident.

“I should have been impulsive,” I said. “I should have complimented him immediately. Just think what agonies he must have suffered during the night.”

“It would do him no harm,” said Albert. “And it makes my approval even more appreciated.”

Dear Albert, he always thought of what was good for people.

TO MY HORROR, dismay, and fury, I was once more pregnant. This would be my sixth child. It was too much. I hated the entire business. I had been enjoying life so much—and could have done so completely if there had not been so many unpleasant State matters which seemed to flare up every now and then.

I did not like the new Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston. How different from dear Lord Aberdeen! I was sure Lord Palmerston withheld information from us; and he and Albert were not on very good terms.

And now … another baby, which was due in April!

Then came terrible news.

There was revolution again in France. This was a repeat performance of what had happened at the end of last century. I had read of that in horror; I had wept for poor vain Marie Antoinette, whom I had seen as not unlike myself in my early days before I had learned so much from Albert, and poor Louis, her husband, who wanted to be good but was so weak. But this was different. These were people I knew.

The mob was marching on the Tuileries.

Poor Aunt Louise! She would be frantic. She was devoted to her family, and what would the mob do to her poor father? Not what they had done to his predecessor, I prayed.

News drifted in. How at midnight the tocsins had rung out, which was the sign of the people to revolt. Then the French King had abdicated.

I kept thinking of myself in similar circumstances. It is true that “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

Lord Palmerston came to see me. He was rather supercilious. Why had I ever thought I liked him? He used to pay me extravagant compliments and Lord Melbourne had told me stories about his amours, which had seemed amusing then, but which would have shocked Albert and, therefore, now shocked me.

Albert was with me but Palmerston addressed himself to me as though counting Albert of no consequence.

He said, “The King of France will doubtless attempt to leave his country. The Foreign Office would not object to a ship's being put at his disposal; but I must point out that, in my opinion, the country would object to harboring members of the French Royal family on this soil.”

“I have family connections with the King of France,” I said.

“Most unfortunate, Ma'am. But you must remember how matters stand in this country at the moment. Your Majesty knows that there have been signs of unrest. It would not be wise to provoke them by taking sides in this foreign conflict.”

“You are advising me to desert my family,” I said.

Lord Palmerston lifted his shoulders, and began to speak slowly and clearly, as though to children. “Unrest of this nature in our neighbors, who are so close to us, must make us pause to think. Revolution spreads like fire. We have to take precautions. We have to act with the utmost care.”

“In England—” I began.

He had the temerity to interrupt which was typical of Lord Palmerston. “Even in England, Ma'am, and most certainly, I should say, in some of the smaller states of Europe.”

Alarm was in Albert's eyes. He murmured, “This is true.”

“You say I may offer them a ship…”

How degrading to have to ask the permission of this man to help my friends! I knew that he was right, of course; but that did not make me like him any more.

SHORTLY AFTERWARD HE called on us again. Albert was with me when I received him. He told me that the King and Queen of France were in England.

“They landed at Newhaven,” he said, “having been brought over in the Steam Packet Express onto which they embarked at Le Havre yesterday evening. When they heard that a Republic had been declared they thought it unsafe to stay in France. I understand that the King's intentions are to remain in England in the strictest incognito; and he and the Queen will assume the titles of the Count and Countess of Neuilly.”

I thought that the odious man was going to suggest that we send them back, but he did not.

He went on, “Perhaps Your Majesty could offer them Claremont. It is, after all, almost a private residence.”

“We shall do that,” I said fervently, looking at Albert, who nodded, lowering his head, so great was his grief.

“They will leave Newhaven tomorrow,” added Lord Palmerston.

“At least,” I said to Albert when Lord Palmerston had left, “we can offer them shelter here.”

There were letters from Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise, and I was blinded by my tears as I read them. I was so desperately sorry for Aunt Louise for I knew how fond she was of her parents.

As she was sealing her letter she heard that they had arrived in England, and enclosed a letter for her mother that she begged me to give to her.

Uncle Leopold wrote most pathetically, telling me how unwell the news from Paris had made him. “What will become of us, God knows. Great efforts will be made to incite a revolution in this country. We have a right to claim protection from England and other powers. I can write no more. God bless you.”

Poor poor Uncle Leopold and even poorer Aunt Louise!

There was great uneasiness in the air. Life never seems to deal one blow at a time. We heard that our dear Grandmother Coburg had died. Albert who had been her special boy in his early days—and always—was grief-stricken. There was no question of his going to Coburg for the funeral. This was not a time to leave me and the children.

There was more to follow.

Lord John Russell came to the Palace in a state of great perturbation. The Chartists were massing in Trafalgar Square and he feared they might decide to come to the Palace.

I was quite advanced in my pregnancy at this time and I felt utterly weary and very worried about the children.

I said they should be kept in the schoolroom and not told what was happening unless it was absolutely necessary. When Albert came in I clung to him, for if the mob broke into the Palace I feared he was the one they would attack. They had always hated him, jeered at him for being a German and refused to see all the good he had done; they shut their eyes to his fine character and called him smug.

In my imagination, I could hear the shouts of the people in the distance. I saw them surging up the Mall. I sat down, Albert beside me, holding my hand.

“If it comes,” I said, “you will be beside me.”

“I shall protect you,” he replied.

“They will not harm me…in this condition.”

“I would not trust them.”

We sat there waiting as time passed. I listened. It seemed very quiet. Lord John was shown in. He looked exhausted.

He said, “I have come to tell Your Majesty that all is well. The crowds are dispersing. They had no real heart for revolution. Our people are not made of the same stuff as the French, Ma'am.”

“Thank God they are not,” I said with feeling.

Albert put his arm round me.

“They left Trafalgar Square shouting slogans,” said Lord John. “Then they rushed into the Mall. There, some of them seemed to lose heart and drifted away. It was the signal for others to do so. I heard some of them say, ‘It is not the Queen's fault. It is her government and…'”

He did not finish and I knew he meant Albert.

I was indignant, but my relief was greater than all other emotions. I just leaned against Albert and gave myself up to the luxury of having him and the family safe.

AMONG ALL THESE emotional disturbances, I did not forget Lord Melbourne. I wrote to him regularly. I had heard that he hardly ever emerged from Brocket these days and that he had become a little absentminded at times, believing he was living in the past, remembering old glories, thinking of the days no doubt when he had been the confidant of the Queen. Dear Lord Melbourne, although I now looked back on my relationship with him with tender amusement, I still cherished many memories.

I 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 in health and strength…

A few days after I wrote that letter my child was born—another little girl: Louise, Caroline, Alberta. It had not been such a very difficult birth but it left me exhausted. I did not want to leave my bed but lay there listlessly, thinking of the terrible things that were happening in the world.

I felt so limp and ill; and I was growing quite fat which was distressing. Albert used to carry me from the bed to the sofa. I think he was very sorry for all I had to go through, bearing children. It must have seemed unfair—even to him—that women should have to bear the entire burden, and when the child was born the husband had such delight in her as Albert had in Vicky. He was obviously her favorite, too, as she was his, yet I had been the one who had had to suffer for her.

Ignoble thoughts, no doubt. But then that was my nature. Albert would have been shocked if I spoke some of my thoughts aloud and would have pointed out the error of them. Well, I would indulge them while I pondered on the hateful process of giving birth. Something more dignified might have been devised.

It was April. Soon I should have another birthday. How quickly they seemed to come nowadays. I remembered how long I had waited for my eighteenth. Now the years sped by.

Albert was with me and about to read to me when Lord John arrived. I only had to look at his face to see his concern.

“Not fresh trouble, Lord John, I hope?” I said.

“I fear so, Your Majesty. The Chartists are to have a meeting on the tenth of this month and it will take place in London. It seems to your Cabinet that this time they may be bent on trouble.”

“Lord John,” I said, “I am not yet recovered from the birth of the Princess. How can they do this?”

“They are concerned only with their rights, Ma'am. I have come to tell you that we shall take every precaution to protect you, your family, and the Palace.”

“Do they say they are coming to me?”

“No, Ma'am. To the House of Commons. But mobs are unpredictable. One can never be sure what they will do. I thought you should be warned without delay. I shall return with Cabinet plans for the protection of you and the Palace.”

I felt horribly depressed. Oh, how hateful it all was! How different from the days when I had driven with Mama in my carriage and the people had shouted their good wishes for me.

Lord John called again.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “the Cabinet have decided that you should leave as soon as possible for Osborne. There are a few days before the march is due to take place. Could you leave tomorrow?”

Albert said we could.

I was angry. To be turned out of my Palace by my subjects! It was inconceivable. I said I had a good mind to stay.

Albert looked at me with a sad shake of his head, reminding me that to lose my temper would be no use whatever.

On the eighth of April, two days before the Chartists' march was due to take place, we left for Osborne.

IN ANY OTHER circumstances I should have delighted in Osborne, but how could I when I did not know what was happening in London and when I contemplated the terrible situation in France!

Albert was very gloomy. He said that revolution was an evil weed which, once it had been allowed to take root, grew like wild fire and could appear anywhere…even in the most unexpected places. Europe trembled. Italy was in revolt; in Germany there were uprisings; and there was a great deal of uneasiness everywhere. This worried Albert very much and spoilt our wonderful Osborne for us both.

News came from London that the Chartists' march had come to nothing. Instead of the large numbers expected only a few arrived; and when they were warned by the police that the march was illegal, they immediately disbanded.

The leaders were taken to the House of Commons where they presented the petitions they had prepared, and that was the end of the matter.

We breathed more easily.

Albert said, “The English are not of a revolutionary nature. Of course there will always be those who seek to arouse it. Some of these would come from abroad—or might even be natives. It is well known that the French Revolution owed its success to agitators. Thank God, this terrible thing has been averted.”

But a few days later one of the servants reported that Chartists had been seen on the Island.

The suspense was terrible. We herded the children into the schoolroom and Albert said we must prepare for the defense of the house, though how we could hold out against a gang of rioters I had no idea.

Happily this turned out to be a false alarm. The so-called Chartists were members of a club who had come to the island to enjoy a day's outing. Such was our state at that time that we were ready to believe our lives were in constant danger.

It was an uneasy summer. There was constant talk of revolution. Uncle Leopold stood firm in Belgium.

“The people must remember what he has done for them,” said Albert. “I know that life has improved for them under his rule.”

“People are so stupid. They follow the mob, and if there is a fiery leader who can inspire them, they forget all that has been done for their good.”

Albert agreed with me.

Through the hot and hazy days the menace hung over us. The children played in the Swiss Cottage. They must have been aware of the tension. Vicky was too bright not to be. But they did their cooking, and Bertie and Affie—Alfred, of course—played with their woodwork tools. They had their lessons, and we tried to make everything seem normal.

Albert said, “The Isle of Wight is very vulnerable…if there was trouble. I wonder if we might go farther afield. I should love to see Scotland again—a beautiful country.”

I thought that was an excellent idea.

Lord John came down to see us and when we mentioned our desire to see Scotland again he thought it would be a good plan for us to go. He told us that the tension had relaxed considerably. People remembered the terrible disaster the French had suffered last century. After all it was not so long ago. They had seen the effects of revolution and wanted none of it here.

He believed the English had too much good sense, and that we were coming through this scare as we had when the great revolution was raging in France.

“The English have not the mood for revolution,” he said. “Europe is shaking, though. I think Russia will be safe. The Emperor has great control over his people; so much so that they would never be able to rise.”

He said he would make inquiries about a house in Scotland we could rent.

“I should like it to be in the Highlands,” said Albert. “I had only a brief glimpse of them, but I found the country magnificent.”

Shortly afterward we heard of a house which could be rented from the Fife Trustees. It was Balmoral House.

Very soon we were preparing to go, and as soon as I saw Balmoral, I loved it… and so did Albert. It was small but very pretty; but it was the scenery around which was enchanting—it was wild, solitary, and beautifully wooded.

“What a place I could make here!” said Albert; and I could see plans forming in his mind just as they had at Osborne.

I laughed at him; and it seemed that we were happy and at peace for the first time for months.

I had not been in Balmoral for a week before I knew that it was going to be important to us.