With the drain of the goblet resound the loud cheer,
Here’s luck in November, and may a braw thumper
In the shape of a Prince glad the close of the year.”
In June the Queen seemed to have come to a rather uncomfortable, not to say morbid, decision; for Admiral Knox tells us that she felt sure that she should die in her confinement, and she also made up her mind to let the event happen at Claremont, where she had everything replaced just as it had been in Princess Charlotte’s time, even to the furniture in the bedroom in which she died. These little plans absorbed her thoughts, and she was constantly running down to Claremont. Of course, her frame of mind and her curious intention were the subjects of gossip in the streets, and gruesome caricatures were published, one representing Victoria lying dead in bed with a dead child in her arms, and November printed beneath. We do not hear quite so much talk about “the good old times” as we did in my childhood, but I really think we should, in the good present times, have no social brutality to offer which would vie with this.
Fortunately there were many considerations which would necessarily defeat the Claremont House scheme, and the little Princess—who was born just after the trouble in the East, making her mother laughingly suggest that Turko-Egypto should be added to her names—first saw the light in Buckingham Palace. After the birth, as the Duke of Wellington was leaving the Palace he met Lord Hill, who made the usual inquiries about Her Majesty and the “little stranger,” to which the old Duke answered:
“Very fine child, and very red, very red; nearly as red as you, Hill!”—an allusion to Lord Hill’s claret-coloured complexion.
The Queen made a rapid recovery, and really behaved in such a healthy, normal way that the King of Hanover must at last have given up all hope of the English Throne. In the light of after events it is interesting to note that Victoria wrote to Leopold:—“I think, dearest uncle, you cannot really wish me to be the ‘mamma of a numerous family,’ for I think you will see with me the great inconvenience a large family would be to all of us, and particularly to the country, independent of the hardship and inconvenience to myself; men never think, at least seldom think, what a hard task it is for us women to go through this very often.”
The married life of the Queen was as methodical as her life had been from 1837 to 1840, but the Prince found the round of the Court too fatiguing and full of change, desiring to reduce Victoria’s programme to greater simplicity. He thought the late hours very trying, and though he was a lover of music would fall asleep before the evening ended. Lady Normanby gave a concert at which—wrote a Court lady to a friend—all “sang divinely, the Queen was charmed, and Cousin Albert looked beautiful and slept as quietly as usual, sitting by Lady Normanby.” I have also come across such comments as these: “We hear a great deal of the beauty and pleasing qualities of Prince Albert, who seems to be admired by all.” Stockmar recorded about this time, “The Prince improves morally and politically. I can say with truth that I love him like my son, and that he deserves it.”
It is not generally realised that when he came to England the Prince’s knowledge of English was not very good, and this, added to his generally reticent character, helped to make social life difficult for him, especially with men. He used to be very glad when Miss Spring-Rice was in waiting, as she spoke German fluently, so that he could talk with her of his home. Yet he slowly gained good will among the nobility, for he was known to be a good man, though he was never really popular with a large number. Our aristocrats were but just emerging from the bondage of the hard drinking, high gaming, loud swearing, and promiscuous love-making which had debased the Courts of the Georges and the last family of Princes, and they could not like a man who lived cleanly, did not swear, drink, bet or gamble, knew nothing of sport, and actually disliked horse-racing. The Prince was neither rash nor docile; he went his own way largely, and did not trouble enough to make friends with men, though he gradually attracted a few staunch loyalists of sober life. Between him and others there grew a barrier of frigid reserve, which in only rare cases was ever broken. The papers did all they could to accentuate this difference; his inability to ride well was made the subject of constant comment, and his musical and literary tastes amused the scoffer. He tried, however, to please when he could, and he determined to show that he could ride as well as most men; but in April he had what might have been a very bad accident. He rode to a staghound meeting at Ascot, on a horse which was a vicious thoroughbred, and it bolted as soon as the Prince mounted. He kept his seat and turned the animal round several times in the hope of stopping it, but at last he was knocked off against a tree, fortunately not sustaining much injury. Later he followed the hunt and drove four-in-hand; but it is almost pathetic to realise how the Queen must have scanned the papers and grieved at every sneer levelled at her husband, while she constantly urged him to remedy anything which to English eyes seemed a defect.
Indeed, the tendency all round was to press him into a mould, to treat him as the Mrs. Gamps of old thought it right to treat the heads of new-born babes: to press here and massage there, in an endeavour to present a good round even surface; and the Queen was just as busy as the Press in her endeavour to work on the skull of Albert’s habits and leanings. He had really no use for society in the ordinary sense; he had no small talk, he could not expand or be confidential. But he had very definite tastes of his own; he would have liked to surround himself with literary and scientific people, artists, and musicians; for recreation he loved a game of double chess, in which he was proficient, but even double chess every night began to pall. As for the rest, it had to be given up, not because the critics of society disapproved, but because his little wife had no fancy for the invasion of their home by intellectual people. She felt that she could not sustain conversation on abstruse subjects, and she always liked to be in the centre of the picture; any other place she would have looked upon as an insult. It is curious that we have had imposed upon us such fulsome laudations of Victoria’s education, for she showed little evidence of superiority in that respect. She could speak French, play the piano, sing prettily, and paint a little, but none of these things really touch the mind, and her mind had been as neglected as were the minds of most of the women of her time. Thus the society around her knew of nothing better than small talk and twiddling the keynotes of a piano; and to this the Prince had to succumb, even at last giving up his chess to join the Queen’s circle in a round game of cards!