My astonishment was only overshadowed by my fury when I heard what had happened. The Foreign Secretary, without consulting his colleagues, had sent for the French ambassador and assured him of his cordial feelings for the new Emperor, and his friendly support.
“This time,” said Albert, “I believe he has destroyed himself.”
It was not long before Lord John was with us. He deplored the Foreign Secretary's action, he said. It had put the ambassador, Lord Normanby, in a very embarrassing position. Palmerston was going to find it very difficult to explain to the House.
And to our great joy, he did. He might protest that his words were intended to convey his personal feelings; it would not do. He was the Foreign Secretary and he could not make public pronouncements and then explain them away as personal feelings.
I had written a carefully worded letter to Lord John in which I made it clear that he had been disrespectful to me. I said that he did not explain to me what he proposed to do in a given case, so that I was not sure to what I gave the royal assent. He would alter and modify certain matters, which I thought was a failure of sincerity. I must be informed fully before decisions were taken.
I asked that this letter be shown to Lord Palmerston.
Lord John did more than that. He read it to the House.
This turned the scale against Palmerston and in spite of his usual eloquent explanations of his conduct he was forced to resign.
Everyone was amazed at the decision Lord John had taken to read my letter to the House. It was considered ungentlemanly by some. Lady Palmerston called him “that little blackguard” and Lord John was very unpopular in some quarters. Not so at Court. Nothing could have delighted us more.
I was pleased when Lord Granville was appointed Foreign Secretary.
Lady Palmerston, his “Em” as Palmerston called her, was quite vitriolic in her comments. She gathered together the wits of the day and there they discussed the inadequacies of the new Foreign Secretary. “A little lordling,” said Lady Em, “who now and then whispers a speech about the Board of Trade, but he is very good at dancing attendance on Prince Albert.”
We did not care. We were rid of the enemy.
* * *
BETWEEN THEM, ALBERT and Stockmar had decided that Mr. Birch must go.
It was true that Bertie was doing a little better than he had been before Mr. Birch's arrival, but, as Stockmar pointed out, progress was not great.
“Bertie is not a scholar,” I said. “But then, nor am I.”
“My dear,” said Albert, “you were in the hands of Baroness Lehzen, and for that reason there is every excuse for you. When you think of the care we have given to Bertie, that is an entirely different case.”
“He seems so happy with Mr. Birch.”
“Happy!” said Albert. “Of course he is happy. He is having a lazy, easy time.”
“I have studied the boy very closely,” said Stockmar.
Albert always listened attentively when Stockmar spoke.
“And,” went on the Baron, “I do not like what I discover.”
My heart sank. I did hate to hear these complaints about Bertie and I had been so pleased to see him happy with Mr. Birch.
I said, “The other children adore him. He is really very popular with them … far more so than Vicky is.”
That stung Albert. He could not bear any of them to be better at anything than Vicky.
“I have no doubt he is very good at childish games,” he said shortly.
“Affie just adores him. He follows him everywhere. I am told that when Affie had an earache, Bertie was the only one who could soothe him.”
“Unfortunately we do not have to train him to be a nurse,” said Albert.
There was nothing I could reply to that. I supposed he was right. Albert always was, and he was sure now that Mr. Birch was not the right tutor for Bertie.
“The Prince of Wales tries to win admiration,” said Stockmar, “and it seems he is quite good at that…particularly among the women. He seems to have a fondness for them and they for him.”
Albert looked very shocked. “A bad sign,” he said.
“Indeed yes,” agreed Stockmar.
“I ask myself what we can do to save him from himself,” went on Albert. “When I think of what lies before… that stupid boy!”
“He is not really stupid, Albert,” I put in. “Just a little lazy perhaps but many boys are like that.”
“My love, Bertie is not many boys.”
“I have been looking about,” said Stockmar, “and I have found a very serious gentleman, a certain Mr. Frederick Gibbs. He is a barrister and would have no nonsense. I have made him aware that with a character such as that unfortunately possessed by the Prince of Wales, there must be no sparing of the rod.”
Albert thought that was a good plan and we should try Mr. Frederick Gibbs.
I shall never forget poor Bertie's face when he was summoned to us. I saw him look at his father and I could not quite understand the expression. Was it fear? I thought it was something more than that. Dislike? Impossible!
I spoke to him softly. “Mr. Birch will be leaving us, and Mr. Gibbs will take his place.”
My heart smote me. I could not help it. I knew Albert was right, of course, but sometimes the good thing can hurt bitterly even though in the end it turns out to be right. But the misery in Bertie's face unnerved me a little. Had I been alone in this I should have said, “Let us keep Mr. Birch, and make up our minds that Bertie is not going to be clever.”
“Well, Bertie,” I said gently.
“I…I…Mr. B…b…,” stammered Bertie.
Albert looked exasperated.
“I thought we had rid ourselves of that stammer. Haven't you learned to speak yet?”
“Poor Bertie,” I said. “It is a little shock. But it is all for the best.”
“You should be grateful to Baron Stockmar who has toiled so hard on your behalf,” said Albert. “He and I have worked out a course of lessons. I can assure you we have given great care to this and you should be grateful.”
“Thank Papa, Bertie,” I prompted.
Bertie said, “Is Mr. B—Birch going?”
Albert looked exasperated.
“That is what Papa has been telling you, Bertie,” I said.
“But… I—I love Mr. Birch.”
“Yes,” I said quickly, for I could see that Albert was getting irritated. “He is a good man. Papa and the Baron chose him for you. They would not have chosen him otherwise.”
I knew Bertie was going to burst into tears so I told him to go to his room.
“He is quite childish,” said Albert in exasperation.
I could not get Bertie out of my mind. I kept seeing the misery on his little face.
* * *
I DECIDED TO see Mr. Birch alone. I felt that was necessary. When Albert was there I found myself thinking what he thought. I wanted to be by myself… absolutely…even if I was wrong.
Mr. Birch had accepted the termination of his engagement with dignity and I saw that he was thinking of Bertie rather than himself, which made him bold and I sensed that he spoke out of the depth of his emotions, and, as an emotional person myself, I understood him.
He said, “The Prince of Wales is misunderstood. He is not backward, though he is not brilliant. He will never be a scholar, but he has many good attributes. He has a charming nature for one thing. He is affectionate. He needs affection as we all do—especially children.”
I nodded, thinking of dear Lehzen in my childhood and Uncle Leopold; and how fortunate I had been in spite of Albert's belief that I had been badly brought up by Lehzen. At least Lehzen had loved me.
“I have never believed that severe punishment brought out the best in children,” went on Mr. Birch. “In the whole of my career I have never found it so.”
“I think that is where your methods have not entirely pleased the Prince and Baron Stockmar.”
“I have had results.”
&
nbsp; “Yes… but Bertie is still not as advanced as his sister.”
“They are different children, Your Majesty. Their talents lie in different directions. The Prince of Wales is inventive; he is quick-witted.”
“The Prince and I have not noticed that.”
“No because …,” Mr. Birch lifted his shoulders and went on, “I am sorry to have failed Your Majesty. I shall be sorry to leave the Prince, but I hope he will be happy.”
“I am sure he will realize in time that everything we do is for his good.”
Mr. Birch made another attempt to speak for Bertie. “He has great gifts. He is kind-hearted, fond of fun; he can make himself loved. Prince Alfred and Princess Alice adore him. He is so kind and gentle with them. Please, Ma'am, do not allow him to be treated with over-severity. It is not the way.”
I said, “You are a good man, Mr. Birch, and I know you have tried to do everything you can for the Prince of Wales. I appreciate that. I could wish …”
I turned away. He was beginning to infect me with his emotion. He was even making me think that Albert and Stockmar might be wrong. I must not think that for it could not be true. Albert was always right. Bertie was lazy. Naturally he loved Mr. Birch, who had never applied the cane and had let him go his slothful way.
“May I show Your Majesty what I found on my pillow this morning?” asked Mr. Birch.
I nodded.
He showed me a crumpled piece of paper. In it lay a tin soldier dressed in the uniform of the pre-revolutionary French army. I took it from him.
“It is the best of his soldiers, his favorite,” said Mr. Birch. “He sent it to me with this note.”
The note, written in Bertie's childish hand, said how much he loved Mr. Birch and how miserable he was because he was going away. He wanted him to have his best soldier as a keepsake.
Mr. Birch's lips quivered. I saw the tears in his eyes.
He bowed, took the paper and the soldier and begged leave to retire.
I was glad he had gone. A moment later and I should have been weeping with him. I must control my emotions, as Albert always said. My impulse was to rush to him and tell him that I was retaining Mr. Birch and that I did not care if Bertie never was a scholar.
Then I seemed to hear Albert's voice at my elbow. The note was badly written. A boy of Bertie's age should do better than that.
Albert was right. Of course he was right.
* * *
I HAD MANY a qualm about Bertie.
I knew that on the day Mr. Birch left he and Alfred stood at the window weeping bitterly—Bertie for Mr. Birch and Alfred mourned for Bertie. I noticed that even Alfred looked at Albert with something like hatred in his face. I hoped Albert did not notice. Fortunately Vicky was present and when she was there Albert never noticed any of the others.
Mr. Gibbs had been in the palace for a few weeks taking over from Mr. Birch, and I think that when Mr. Birch was there he restrained himself considerably. After Mr. Birch had left, lessons began in earnest and we heard that Bertie did not take at all kindly to them. He was sullen and refused to learn and was constantly being beaten, which did not appear to have the desired effect. Once he threw a stone at Mr. Gibbs. Alice and Alfred misbehaved too, siding with Bertie; even Helena and Louise set up a wail every time Mr. Gibbs appeared.
And it seemed that Bertie learned less under Mr. Gibbs than he had under Mr. Birch.
But Stockmar and Albert believed that Bertie had to be tamed and that the gentle hand of Mr. Birch would never have achieved anything.
Nothing Bertie did was right.
Sometimes when I was with him and the other children, without Albert, he would seem a little less sullen. We would laugh and sing together, and I would tell them about the past when I had lived in Kensington Palace, how I had saved for the doll, how I had had the typhoid fever and was so ill that my hair had come out. I told them about Lehzen and the uncles; and they listened avidly.
“Were you always the Queen?” asked Bertie.
“No,” I told him. “It was only after Uncle William died. I was the next in line.”
I asked him if he knew what that meant; he did not, so I explained.
I finished, “And after me you will be the Sovereign.”
Bertie shook his head. “No, Mama,” he said, “that will be Vicky. You and Papa don't love me. You love Vicky, so you will make her the Queen.”
I was shaken. I said indignantly, “But of course we love you. You are our son.”
He was matter of fact. He said with conviction, “It will be Vicky.”
“You think because Vicky is older than you she will be the Queen. But you are a boy and they come before girls.”
He looked unconvinced. “But, you see, you and Papa don't love me. You do love Vicky…very much.”
I tried to explain to him that I loved them all equally. I saw a faraway look come into his eyes. He politely refrained from contradiction, but his expression implied that it was no use trying to convince him of something that he knew was simply not true.
I had many uneasy nights over Bertie and my feelings came to a head when Vicky was troublesome.
There was no doubt that Vicky had a high opinion of herself. It was natural, Albert would say. She was a pretty, very clever girl. It was more than that; she basked in an atmosphere of approval. Albert liked to talk to her. She could discuss most topics with intelligence. When he was making plans for Balmoral he showed them to her before he showed them to me. He would listen to her comments. “Why, that is good,” he would say. “An excellent idea.”
I felt a little irritated. She was only a child after all.
Then there was the incident that brought matters to a head. Albert had been unwell for some time. I believed he had been rather delicate in his boyhood and now he had a series of colds, one after the other, which was very worrying. I fussed over him a little and although he pretended to be impatient, I think he enjoyed it. There was a doctor in Windsor named Brown who was very highly regarded and I said why did we not ask his opinion instead of calling in Sir James Clark. I thought a fresh man might be able to put his finger on Albert's weakness. It might be something to do with the Windsor air and Brown knew Windsor.
Vicky heard Albert call the doctor Brown and when she spoke of him she referred to him in the same way.
“That is impolite,” I said. “You must call him Dr. Brown.”
“Papa calls him Brown,” said Vicky, who always wanted to argue about everything.
“Papa is different. Papa may do as he wishes and he may be Brown to Papa but he is Dr. Brown to you.”
“I cannot see…,” began Vicky.
“Never mind whether you see or not. Don't do it again.”
Vicky liked to show off in front of the others and again referred to Brown.
I saw Albert smile to himself; he thought it was amusing. I was angry that Vicky should be impolite to the doctor and ignore my orders.
I said that if I heard her call the doctor Brown again, she would go straight to bed.
The very next morning when Dr. Brown called she said, “Good morning, Brown.” She was really a minx. She saw me looking at her and said, “Good night, Brown. I am going to bed now.”
Then she left the room.
Albert could not contain his laughter—and he laughed rarely.
He explained to the doctor who joined in the mirth. Whether he thought it was funny I do not know. One is never sure with people. I was not amused.
I was even more annoyed when later Albert went to her room and came down smiling proudly.
“What a child!” he said. “She is so amusing. Do you know, she told me that she did not mind spending the day in her bedroom. She had her books and she does enjoy them. So it is no punishment really, she said.”
I retorted, “You encourage her in her naughtiness, Albert.”
“Such charming naughtiness,” he said.
“She defied me.”
“That was really witty at the end. Good mor
ning…Good night, I am going to bed.”
“You can see no wrong in her, can you?” I said.
“My dear love, I see her as she is.”
“And how do you see Bertie?” I cried. Then it came out… all the thoughts that had been in my mind and which I had refused to consider. “You can be cruel to Bertie your son while you pamper your daughter.”
Albert looked at me in amazement. “I? Cruel to Bertie! What do you mean? Victoria, what are you saying?”
I had gone too far. I had said what I did not mean. Of course Albert only wanted the best for Bertie. It was Bertie who was slothful, who would not learn.
Albert went on, “When I think of the trouble I have gone to for that boy… and you say…”
“Oh, it was nothing, I did not mean it. I have been worried about Bertie, and seeing how you are with Vicky…”
“Liebchen,” he began, and he slipped into German. He had neglected me. I was jealous because he spent so much time with our daughter. She was growing up… she needed him. She was a dear, sweet, clever child, and he had high hopes for her. He loved all our children. If he seemed cruel to Bertie it was only for Bertie's good. Did I want Bertie to grow into a criminal?
I began to feel wretched.
It was my impetuosity again.
“I'm sorry, Albert. I didn't mean it.”
He took my face in his hands.
“Little one,” he said, “you are just a little jealous of Vicky. I have neglected my little wife… for my little daughter. It is because she is ours— yours and mine—that I love her so much.”
I was in tears. I lay against him.
He was so good. He was a saint. And it is sometimes not easy to live with saints.
I told him this and he stroked my hair and was very tender. He understood, he murmured. He understood… absolutely.
* * *
WHEN DEATH STRIKES it seems to do so in several directions all at once. Someone dies here, another there; and life seems changed somehow.
Dear Aunt Adelaide died and I was very sad remembering so many incidents from the past, her many kindnesses, the Big Doll she had given me, and how she had tried to get me to her children's balls because she had thought I was not having enough fun. Dear Aunt Adelaide! I hoped she was happy now with Uncle William, for they had truly loved each other.
Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria Page 44
