When a few more days had passed in familiar intercourse, in singing and walking, in dancing and driving, and best of all, in riding together (for there is no cradle to rock young Love in like the saddle), the poor little Queen forsworn, found she had no longer the courage to propose to that proud young Prince to wait indefinitely on her will—to tarry at Coburg for more wisdom and beard. At the thought of it she seemed to see something of noble scorn about his lips, and such grave remonstrance in his gentle, pensive, forget-me-not eyes, that—the words of parting were never spoken, or not till after many happy years.
Alas for this fairy-Prince in an unfairylike kingdom! He could only declare his love, and sound the heart of his beloved, with his eyes. Etiquette put a leaden seal on his lips till from hers should come the sweet avowal and the momentous proffer to rule the ruler—to assume love's sovereignty over the Sovereign. After five days of troubled yet joyous waiting, it came—the happy "climax," as the Prince called it in a letter to Baron Stockmar—and then that perfectest flower of human life, whether in palace or cottage, a pure and noble love, burst into full and glorious bloom in each young heart. One cannot, even now, read without a genuine heart-thrill, and a mistiness about the eyes, the simple touching story of that royal romance of royal old Windsor. More than two-score years have passed, and yet how fresh it seems! It has the dew and the bloom of Paradise upon it.
What in all this story seems to me most beautiful and touching, because so exquisitely womanly, is the meekness of the young Queen. Though as Queen she offered the Prince her coveted hand—that hand that had held the sceptre of sceptres, and which Princes and Peers and the representatives of the highest powers on earth, had kissed in homage, it was only as a poor little woman's weak hand, which needed to be upheld and guided in good works, by a stronger, firmer hand; and her head, when she laid it on her chosen husband's shoulder, had not the feel of the crown on it. Indeed, she seems to have felt that his love was her real coronation, his faith her consecration.
To the beloved Stockmar, to whom but a little while before she had communicated her unalterable determination not to marry any one for ever so long the newly betrothed wrote: "I do feel so guilty I know not how to begin my letter; but I think the news it will contain will be sufficient to ensure your forgiveness. Albert has completely won my heart, and all was settled between us this morning. I feel certain he will make me happy. I wish I could feel as certain of my making him happy, but I will do my best."
Among the entries in the Queen's journal are many like this: "How I will strive to make Albert feel as little as possible the great sacrifice he has made. I told him it was a great sacrifice on his part, but he would not allow it."
Of course the Prince had too much manly feeling and practical good sense to "allow it." He knew he was the most envied, not only of all poor German Princes about that time, but of all young scions of royalty the world over; and besides, he loved his cousin. There is no record or legend or hint of his having ever loved any other woman, except his good grandmothers. To her of Gotha he wrote: "The Queen sent for me alone to her room the other day, and declared to me in a genuine outburst of affection that I had gained her whole heart, and would make her intensely happy if I would make her the sacrifice of sharing her life with her, for she said she looked on it as a sacrifice; the only thing which troubled her was that she did not think she was worthy of me. The joyous openness with which she told me this enchanted me, and I was quite carried away by it."
Still, and always the thought of "sacrifice!" This sentiment of tender humility, of deference and reverence the Queen never lost. Indeed, it seems to have grown with years, and as the character of the Prince- Consort unfolded more and more in beauty, strength, dignity, and uprightness.
A month was passed by the lovers, in such happiness as comes but once in life to the most fortunate human beings—to some, alas! never. Then the Prince returned to Coburg, to settle his affairs and to take leave of his old home and his kindred. Those partings seem to have pulled hard on his heart-strings, and are distressing to read about. One would think he was bound for the "under-world," to wed the Queen of Madagascar. These Germans are such passionate lovers of the fatherland, that one wonders how they can ever bring themselves to leave it, to make grand marriages in England, or fortunes in America, to start a royal house, or a kindergarten—to become a Field Marshal or a United States Senator.
But all that grief at Coburg and Gotha showed how dearly Prince Albert was loved, and how he loved.
It seems that the fair cousin at Windsor was scarcely gay, for the Prince, writing to her mother, says: "What you say of my poor little bride, sitting all alone in her room, silent and sad, has touched my heart. Oh, that I might fly to her side to cheer her!"