by Jean Plaidy
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 c
an 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.
War and Mutiny
THAT HAD BEEN A VERY DISTURBING YEAR AND I HOPED NEVER to pass through another like it.
In November, Lord Melbourne died. Although I knew that he had been ailing for some time, and life could not have been very good for him, I was deeply shocked.
I had often thought of him and his lonely life at Brocket—he who had sparkled in social gatherings, delivering that pithy wit, with its cynicism and unconventionality that had seemed so clever to me in those early days. How we had laughed together! How I had rejoiced in his friendship! How unhappy I had been when I feared to lose him! What he had meant to me I should never forget.
Albert had explained to me that he was not a statesman of the stature of Sir Robert Peel, and I had to admit that Albert was right; but Lord Melbourne had been a very special person to me.
Albert could not understand the depth of my grief but it was there nonetheless.
It always saddened me when people died, even those whom I had not known very well; but when it was someone for whom I had cared as I had for Lord Melbourne, it was hard to bear—particularly in that alarming year of unrest.
I was glad when the New Year came.
I was spending more time with the children and finding them interesting now that they were growing up. It was just those frog-like babies who did not appeal to me; but as they began to assume human qualities I found them fascinating. I was pleased with my brood—even Bertie, who stuttered much less now that Mr. Birch had come. Mr. Birch gave us such good reports of him that Albert grew a little suspicious and said that he may have caught Lady Lyttelton's and Miss Hildyard's complaint—which was spoiling the boy.
However, Stockmar had chosen Mr. Birch, and that was in his favor. Although, said Albert, Bertie's attachment to the tutor must be watched.
Albert had been depressed about what was happening in France and Germany, and wanted a little peace for a while. He gave himself up to the pleasures of Osborne. There he spent hours in the Swiss Cottage with the children; he took them for walks and talked to them about the trees and plants.
I enjoyed it so much although there were times when I wished that Albert and I could be alone without the children. I had come to the conclusion that I was meant to be a wife rather than a mother. Much as I loved my children it was my husband who was all-important to me.
I think I was a little jealous of Vicky for she claimed so much of his attention and sometimes he seemed to prefer to be with her rather than with me. Once I taxed him with it and we almost quarreled—until he made me so ashamed. To be jealous of my own daughter!
I said that he was unfair to Bertie and that to talk about others spoiling him was amusing, considering how he spoilt Vicky.
The storm blew over, but a little resentment remained, though it did not spoil those happy days. And happy they were! For a short period I was not pregnant. A joy in itself ! I could give myself up to the pleasures of Osborne—the sun, the sea breezes, the sight of the ships going up and down the Solent, my dear house that Albert had made, going down to the sea and from my bathing-machine experiencing the thrill of slipping into the water.
It was wonderful, and I was foolish to allow all that to be spoilt by petty jealousy of my own daughter on whom I doted as much as Albert did—or almost. I loved my children. It was just that I loved Albert more.
In the autumn we went back to Scotland and took Balmoral again. I think Scotland was even more wonderful than the Isle of Wight. Albert loved it more because it reminded him of the mountains and glens of his home.
He said, “I should like Balmoral to be our very own. The house is small but I could turn it into a royal residence.”
Why not? I thought. He was so good. He should have been an architect; and it would give him and us all so much pleasure.
The dear people of Scotland took us to their hearts as we did them to ours. I was already learning the names of the tenants. There was old Mrs. Grant who was so tidy and clean; and none of them was in the least overawed by royalty, the dear simple folk! There was one woman of ninety— Kitty Kear—who sat near her open door spinning; as we passed and talked to her, she did not even stop her work but remarked about Vicky, “Yon lassie has grown a wee bit since she were here last.” I learned about their families and characteristics; I dressed my children in kilts to show the people that we really felt ourselves to belong to their country.
I knew that Balmoral was going to be our favorite haven to which we could escape when affairs in London became too trying. There we felt far away…in a different world. It was just what we needed.
But alas, to my dismay and indignation, I was soon pregnant again.
There was terrible news from Ireland, which was suffering acutely from the potato famine. People were dying in the thousands and being buried in communal graves. They had murdered some of the landlords. There was revolt there as in the European countries.
I was deeply shocked when, as we were driving down Constitution Hill, a man came up close to the carriage and fired at me. I should have been killed if the gun had been loaded.
He was an Irishman named William Hamilton who blamed me for the terrible state of affairs in his country.
I was sorry for the man. I understood his anger. It must be terrible to see one's family and friends suffering from starvation when others have plenty. I would have pardoned him—after all, he had only given me a fright. But Lord John pointed out that that sort of thing could not be allowed to go on. It was a mistake to show mercy when it could be counted as weakness.
William Hamilton was transported for seven years.
That May my child was born. A boy this time—Arthur William Patrick Albert. There were seven of them now—all strong and healthy. Even the people were finding my ferti
lity a little monotonous and there were unpleasant murmurings about the cost of the royal family to the taxpayer.
I agreed with them that I had had enough. I was now thirty-one years old. Quite a mature age and a time when I thought I should have earned a respite from this onerous task. I had done my duty. Let it rest there.
Albert was full of ideas for an exhibition he was planning. It was to show the industrial products of the world. Under his direction a Royal Commission was set up. He was working very hard on the project and he thought Hyde Park would be the very place where it should be set up. It was to be like a big glass palace.
Of course he had to fight a great deal of opposition. There were those who could not agree to Hyde Park as the setting—when it was obviously the very best place. Albert was in despair.
“They are against me,” he said. “They cannot forget that I am a German. I hear that on every side.”
“Only from the stupid,” I said. “There are so many people who admire you and more and more are learning to do so.”
I shall never forget that July day when the tragic news was brought to me.
Sir Robert—whom I had begun by hating—was now a very dear friend and I could not believe this had happened to him. He was riding his horse up Constitution Hill when it became restive and threw him. He was carried to his home in Whitehall Gardens, and four days later he was dead.
It was a great blow to the country. We had lost one of our finest statesmen.
I was so distressed to think of poor Julia Peel. She had been such a good wife to him and they were such an exceptionally devoted couple that it had been a joy to see them together. She had made herself his companion and helpmeet throughout all his struggles and triumphs. They had five sons and two daughters—a devoted family, now plunged into mourning.
First my dear Lord Melbourne and now Sir Robert Peel. Life was very sad.
There had been so many deaths recently. Poor Aunt Sophia had gone. Aunt Gloucester was very feebleminded and behaved oddly. It could not be long before she joined her sister. Uncle Cambridge was ill. Of course they were all getting old. Even I was thirty-one.
