Виктория Холт - The Queen’s Husband

* * *

When Mr Birch retired for the night he found a rather ill-spelt note on his pillow with a tin soldier impeccably dressed in the uniform of the pre-revolutionary French Army. Bertie wanted Mr Birch to have his best soldier. Bertie was very, very sad because they were going to send Mr Birch away.

Mr Birch read the letter and put it carefully away with the soldier.

So he was to be dismissed. His rule had been too lenient. His efforts were appreciated, his scholarship was not in question, but the Prince of Wales had an unfortunate nature.

He wanted to protest. The Prince of Wales is a normal boy. He wants love and understanding. It is true he is not as clever as his elder sister, but he has gifts which she lacks. He may not be intellectual, but he is kind-hearted, fond of fun. He has an ability to make himself loved which should not be warped by severity.

But how could one explain? The Queen and the Prince might know how to govern a country (through their Ministers) but they did not know how to bring up a child.

They were a wretched three weeks while Mr Gibbs was taking over from Mr Birch. Bertie was very unhappy, he cried himself to sleep every night; he left notes on Mr Birch’s pillow; and he hated Mr Gibbs, who soon made his views known, which were identical with those of the Prince and Stockmar.

The Baron had interviewed Mr Gibbs in the presence of Albert. They enumerated Bertie’s weaknesses. His temper was fierce and ungovernable; he was lazy; he was frivolous; he would at moments stutter, although recently this was less pronounced; when addressed he was inclined to hang his head and look at his feet. It was the Baron’s opinion that the cure for these faults was in renewed work and constant applications of the cane. The Baron did not criticise Mr Birch, who was a very learned gentleman, but his methods had been too mild – all very well when dealing with a clever child like the Princess Royal perhaps, but for such a miscreant as the Prince of Wales they were doomed to failure.

Mr Birch departed and the Prince of Wales watched him go, as well as his tears and a window steamed by his breath would let him.

Mr Birch had told him that the time would pass and he would soon escape from the schoolroom altogether; that was one of the great consolations of life. Nothing lasted for ever.

The carriage had gone. Desolation remained. Bertie was convulsed by his sobbing in which Alfred joined, for he too had loved Mr Birch and the fact that Bertie was broken-hearted meant that Alfred must be too.

* * *

Mr Gibbs’ first task was to explain to the Prince the awful task ahead of him. It must be work, work, work, because one day when some dire event should fall – the death of his mother – he would be the King. Bertie was a little bewildered. His mother was the Queen but his terrifying father was not the King. He couldn’t understand it.

His mother was the less terrifying of the trio which consisted of father, mother and Mr Gibbs. In fact there were times when she was quite different. When she laughed and showed her gums he forgot about her being on their side. And she could play games too, and when they did play it was fun. Then Papa would come and look on and spoil it, it was true, because he would say they weren’t doing something as it should be done, and then he for one would forget his lines simply because Papa was there.

So when he was walking with Mama in the grounds of Buckingham Palace and Papa wasn’t there, which seemed to make her more friendly, he asked: ‘Mama, why are you the Queen?’

She always liked to talk about the family. ‘Well, my Grandpapa was George III and he had several sons. The eldest of these was my uncle George who was George IV. He had a daughter, Charlotte, who would have been Queen but she died, so when George IV died his brother William IV was King. William had no heir so the next son was my father and as he had no children but me, I was the Queen.’

Bertie nodded gravely.

‘And,’ went on Mama, ‘your dear Papa and I married and you are our eldest son. So one day you will be King. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes. It was what I thought but …’

‘Well tell me, Bertie, if there is something you don’t understand.’

‘Can you and Papa make the next sovereign?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Can you say who it will be?’

‘It is not for anyone to say. It is the next in line of succession.’

‘Oh, I thought that it would be Vicky who was Queen and not me the King.’

‘No. If there is a boy, it is the boy.’

‘But I thought as you and Papa love Vicky so much you would want her to be Queen.’

Victoria was a little startled. She looked sharply at Bertie but that was true bewilderment she saw in his eyes and she felt her conscience vaguely disturbed.

Her impulse was to tell him that parents loved all their children equally if they were good, but that was not true and she was too honest to deceive herself.

All the same she would have liked to have embraced Bertie and to tell him that she wanted to love him; but Albert would say that was bad for him. He must be aware of his responsibilities and severity would make him so.

* * *

Bertie was behaving badly. He refused to do his sums; he was disobedient; he was caught putting his tongue out at Mr Gibbs’ back and he was inciting Alfred to behave as badly. His temper was in constant evidence; he called Mr Gibbs objectional names; he once threw stones at him.

All this was reported to Albert and Stockmar who congratulated themselves on having installed Mr Gibbs in time.

One could only get the attention of the Prince of Wales by story telling and play acting. For instance when Mr Gibbs had told the story of Robert the Bruce both Bertie and Alfred had sat listening entranced. Why could he not show the same interest in his studies?

When they did amateur theatricals Bertie was again amenable. He could learn his part as well as anyone, but when the children performed before their parents the Princess Royal so outshone him that he became rather sullen. The Princess, being so much bigger than her brother, played the masculine parts to perfection. ‘How well Vicky looks in her costume,’ the Queen was heard to say. ‘Poor Bertie’s swamped in his.’

Mr Gibbs must bring all possible accounts of Bertie’s shortcomings to Stockmar and his father. The remedy, said the Baron, was harder work and more canings.

The younger children copied Bertie. He was an evil example. Even Vicky was not always a paragon.

But as the Queen said to Albert: ‘Vicky was charmingly naughty.’ She repeated the latest account of Vicky’s charming naughtiness, when she was confined to her room in disgrace.

Albert, not feeling very well, had summoned a Windsor physician who was highly thought of in the neighbourhood instead of calling on Sir James Clark or one of the royal doctors. He was a Mr Brown and the Queen and Albert addressed him as Brown. The Princess Royal imitated her parents and referred to him as ‘Brown’ at which the Queen reprimanded her. He was Mr Brown, an eminent doctor, and the children must call him by his proper name.

Vicky, very conscious of her rank, which was partly due to her doting parents, addressed the doctor once more as ‘Brown’. After he had left the Queen sent for her to tell her that this was very rude and she had already been told that she must call him Mr Brown. But the Princess Royal persisted in dropping the Mr, at which the queen said that if it happened again she would be sent to bed immediately. Mr Brown came again and Vicky said defiantly, ‘Good morning, Brown.’ Then watching her mother’s expression, she curtsied and went on: ‘Good night, Brown, for I am now going to bed.’

So Vicky spent the rest of the day in disgrace and the Queen and Albert laughed uproariously about her charming naughtiness.

Meanwhile Bertie’s conduct did not improve.

‘The children are a great anxiety,’ said the Queen, ‘particularly Bertie who continues to plague his tutors and worry his father.’

Vicky’s punishment for her charming misdeeds was always to be sent to bed. She didn’t mind in the least. It was pleasant to be alone in her room with her books. She could read and then astonish them all with her cleverness. So they doted on her more and more.

It was the first day of May, and two important events were about to take place. First little Arthur’s birthday, for he was just a year old, and secondly the opening of the great Exhibition.

Arthur was in his high chair with his table of presents beside him – his first introduction to what it meant to have a birthday. The children had all brought him gifts and what a pleasure it was to see him so excited. He wanted only Bertie to help him open his packages and it was a very happy family breakfast.

At eleven o’clock the royal party set out for Hyde Park and Victoria could see that, although he hid his emotions under a calm facade, Albert was as nervous and excited as he had been on his wedding day. She herself was reminded of her coronation. Everywhere she looked she could see crowds of people; and everyone was in festive mood. A few drops of rain fell as they were leaving the palace, then the sky cleared and the sun shone brilliantly as the royal procession passed down Rotten Row, and there, gleaming like a great crystal palace (which was what it was called), was the Exhibition – Albert’s Exhibition, for his was the brain which had conceived it and she had seen him absolutely exhausted with the innumerable plans he had made for it. She remembered gleefully how all those stupid people who had decried it and tried to prevent its coming into being had been forced to admit their mistake. Albert was the one who should take the credit.

What a thrill to enter that great gleaming edifice! Bertie held her hand and Vicky clung to her father’s. It was magical! The flowers and the fountains were beautiful. The organ was playing triumphant music and there was an orchestra with two hundred instruments and six hundred singers. When the music stopped the cheers broke out. Cheers for Albert. This was far more magnificent even than the coronation, and Victoria was deeply moved because it was Albert’s creation.

The orchestra began to play God Save the Queen and the tears were in Victoria’s eyes as she listened to those loyal voices. She then declared the Exhibition open. The trumpets sounded and the cheering was deafening.

How much happier was such a peace festival than these foolish riots which had been tormenting the country for some time, and worse still the fearful revolutions of Europe.

Everyone was loud in their praises of the exhibits and the wonderful Crystal Palace with its flowers and statues. The Queen had a word with Paxton, whose genius, guided by Albert, was responsible for the brilliant array. It was particularly wonderful that he had begun his career as a common garden boy.

The old Duke of Wellington put in an appearance. He was eighty-seven on that day and because Arthur had been born on his birthday the Duke had been one of his godparents. He asked permission to call at the palace later as he had some toys and a gold cup for Arthur and the Queen told him that he would be most welcome – not only by the fortunate Arthur who was to be the recipient of such gifts but by them all.

Oh, that was a happy day! To see Albert vindicated gave the Queen the greatest pleasure. She could even be charming to Lord Palmerston when he visited the Exhibition.

‘Is it not a wonderful conception, Lord Palmerston?’ she asked; and even he could find no fault with anything.

What a pleasure to return tired but happy to the palace to receive the Duke of Wellington when he called; and little Arthur, his namesake, was ready with a nosegay of flowers to present to his godfather.

And then to Covent Garden to see The Huguenots and be cheered by the audience.

When at last the day was over and the Queen and Albert were alone she said to him, ‘This is the proudest and happiest day of my happy life.’

* * *

Hardly a day passed without the Queen’s visiting the Exhibition. She greatly admired every section and made a great effort to understand the exhibits of machinery when they were explained to her. She drank in all the praise – and now everyone was praising. Royal relations came from overseas to see the wonders of which they had heard so much and among them the Prince and Princess of Prussia, with their son Frederick, who was known as Fritz – a charming young man. Albert was very interested in him because he would one day be the King of Prussia and Albert had set his heart on Vicky’s mounting that throne. If Vicky could not be Queen of England – and that throne must go to Bertie – then Prussia was the next best thing.