10

The change was not noticed at first by anyone but Lehzen—and by Stockmar, who was watching for it. The first sign was Victoria’s temper. It was sharper and more uncontrolled now. She scolded her ladies for the slightest mistake, and there were rumors that Melbourne’s daily conferences were sometimes very stormy. She was nervy and irritable; at times too gay and vivacious to be quite natural, and at others haughty and stilted, even with her intimates.

The rumors then took a more definite form. The Queen was pregnant, and all women in that condition became difficult. Lehzen, who often found her red-eyed from weeping and who knew she was having a child, made the fatal mistake of attributing Victoria’s tempers and depressions to this cause. She soothed and chattered as usual, and talked so much about the future heir of England that the Queen felt like crying out to her to stop.

It would be a son, Lehzen rejoiced, a dear little boy, just like his mother. And then her darling madam would have done her duty to the country. She would be Queen, with a little Prince of Wales. The inference was that the odious marriage could recede a good deal out of Victoria’s life, once the baby was born.

And in her rhapsodies over the coming child, the old Baroness managed to ignore the fact that Albert was in any way responsible. If Victoria brought his name into the conversation, she avoided it and changed to something else, or sat silently with her eyes fixed on a point above Victoria’s shoulder, with a cheerful expression that seemed to say the nasty subject would soon be dropped. She no longer complained about the Prince or sowed suspicions in Victoria’s mind. That part of her campaign had been successful; the second phase was to exclude him entirely from her relationship with her mistress.

She knew that he was told nothing and consulted on nothing; she knew and enjoyed the full extent of his humiliations; and she increased her own powers of management in the royal household at every opportunity. And because she no longer invited Victoria’s confidence about her husband, she remained ignorant of the new situation which had arisen.

For some time Victoria refused to admit to herself that anything was wrong. She saw Albert smiling and polite in public, correct toward her in word and deed, and tried desperately to close her mind to the fact that when they were alone he was depressed and silent, always making excuses to go off for walks by himself, to ride alone, because the exercise wasn’t allowed her, easing his hand away when she took it in hers … He was polite and gentle and terrifyingly distant.

She began to quarrel with him over trifles, striking out in the attempt to bring him near, even in anger. But he either ignored the challenge or else left the room. And one thing she couldn’t ignore. He was obviously unhappy. It was unbelievable, she thought, working herself into a rage to disguise her fear. How could he be miserable when they were married and expecting a child, and when she had done everything possible to please him?

Lehzen was right—he had wanted to interfere, to take on her authority! The happy life they led together, where he could do what he liked while she was occupied—that wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t love her, she said to herself, and then denied it, in floods of tears. He did love her … he must. They might have misunderstandings and little struggles of will—all married couples needed time—but if she thought he didn’t love her, life would have no meaning at all.

And the more Lehzen babbled on about the baby, the more irritated she felt, as if the unborn child was all-important and could compensate her for the relationship which had suddenly taken the wrong turning. She didn’t care about the child; only one never admitted a thing like that. It was very nice that she was going to have a baby and that she didn’t feel ill. It was the result of the beautiful affection which existed between her and Albert, but that was all.

If she had to live without his love, and continue seeing him melancholy and withdrawn, then she really didn’t care if she died at the end of her pregnancy like her cousin Charlotte. She probably would die, she thought wretchedly. And then he would regret having been so ungrateful.

Resentment made her more highhanded in her treatment of her husband; she politely avoided discussing anything about Melbourne’s visits, and swept in to her dispatch boxes and her conferences with her sharp little chin thrust out and an increasing heartache, because defying Albert didn’t relieve her feelings in the least. And she began to resent Lehzen’s attitude even more. If only her confidant would give her the chance to talk about him, to express the anxiety which had no outlet—what a relief it would have been. What a relief to quarrel with Lehzen about him, and to give vent to her feelings. But the Baroness defeated her efforts; she swam serenely past every bait, leaving Victoria alone with her pride and her uncertainty.

Albert hated every move in the campaign. He often wept because he loathed being deliberately unkind, and her condition made his course harder still. But Stockmar was there at his elbow, strengthening his resolve, encouraging him to persist. His life must follow the right pattern. Service to the community, self-sacrifice in the cause of peace and better morality in the world. No man had such an opportunity for doing good as he had, of living a useful, dedicated life, once Victoria admitted him to a share of her power. And she would, Stockmar maintained. As long as he didn’t weaken.

“I’m so glad you decided to come to Windsor this week end, ma’am,” Stockmar said. “The air does agree with the Prince and I thought he was looking a little pale lately.”

He was alone with Victoria in the music room; together they had been choosing the music to be sung at a concert that evening. Some of the ladies in waiting, especially Lady Lyttleton, had fine voices, and they were often called on to entertain the Queen and the Prince after dinner. Sometimes the Queen sang, while Albert accompanied her, but that habit had lapsed in the last few weeks, because he did everything she suggested with such an air of resignation that there was no longer any pleasure in it.

Albert did look tired; but not as tired as Victoria, the Baron thought as she looked up at him. She was thickening slightly, but no mention could be made of her condition. Albert thought interest in such a private matter was indelicate, and in that she seemed to agree with him. She was agreeing on several minor points, almost as if the major issue could be avoided by giving way on trifles which didn’t really matter to her. But every concession gained at the expense of that iron will was a victory. Albert couldn’t see that; he only despaired and gave way to depression as the strain between them increased and she showed no sign of yielding.

“Albert is very fond of Windsor,” Victoria said. “He’s often told me how much he dislikes London.” It was such a pity he didn’t enjoy life in the capital, that the parties and receptions bored him, because now she no longer enjoyed them either. She sighed and bent over the music album.

“I think he finds the time dragging,” the Baron remarked gently. “He has so little to do in London, while you are very occupied, ma’am.”

She looked up at him sharply.

“Little to do? But good heavens, Baron, there’s the library … and his correspondence … I can’t find time enough to deal with mine!”

“Yours is perhaps more interesting,” Stockmar said. “There’s a limit to the number of letters one can write to one’s family. Even a limit to the number of books one can read. If he had something to occupy him …”

He saw the expression in her eyes and decided that this was not the time to make an issue of Albert’s position. No wonder his protégé found her hard to deal with; even he, who had known her since she was a child, felt uncomfortable before the intensity of her opposition.

“In Coburg Albert had certain interests,” he went on carefully. “He’s a serious-minded young man, and science used to occupy him. And theology. If he could perhaps meet some of the men who work in these fields——”

“That has been suggested already.” Victoria closed the album with a snap. She was only waiting for Stockmar to add politics to the list of Albert’s hobbies, and then she could really lose her temper. “Unfortunately my education in these matters was neglected. I should feel most unhappy in such company. Quite ill at ease, my dear Baron. I can’t believe Albert longs for conversations in which he knows I cannot join.”

“Of course not,” Stockmar retreated hastily.

“You are not suggesting that the Prince finds the Court boring?” There was an angry patch of pink in both cheeks. “I shall soon begin to feel that he finds me dull——”

The Baron laughed as if she had made a joke. “My dear ma’am, you know he only lives for you. All I meant to say was that he’s been approached by the Society for the Abolition of Slavery and the Civilisation of Africa. They would like him to be their president. It’s really a mark of esteem,” he explained. “A gesture toward the Prince from your people. He could study the subject and make a speech. I know how strongly he feels about slavery, and it would make him feel that he was being really useful to you.”

The abolition of slavery. It was a very laudable project. If that was the sort of work Albert wanted, perhaps she needn’t have been so jealous of her privileges. Slavery had nothing to do with her government or her policies. The Society was a gathering of worthy people who wanted an equally worthy royal personage to support them. If Albert would be content with good works … Above all, if he would only look happier and behave more warmly toward her …

“Do you think he would accept?”

“I’m sure of it, ma’am. It would make him very happy.”

“In that case,” Victoria opened the music album again, “I shall press him to do so. Now, Baron, we really must make a selection of these songs.”

His address to the Society was Albert’s first public duty. He made a speech in which Anson and Stockmar had collaborated, and which he had learned by heart. It was entirely nonpolitical, and his audience was composed of members of all parties and religions. He was extremely nervous, and for once his stiffness was appropriate to the occasion.

Levity or self-assurance from this young foreigner on such a serious subject would have made a very bad impression. The audience was staid and righteous; the subject was uplifting; the new president comported himself exactly as they thought he should, and when his speech was finished they cheered him warmly. The Times reported the incident in terms which implied that the Queen’s Consort was at last doing something to earn his keep, but otherwise managed to praise rather than criticize.

Hearing the accounts of his success—above all, seeing him animated and happy for the first time in weeks—Victoria felt such a surge of relief and pride in him that Lehzen quickly reminded her that the King of Portugal, who had interests in Africa, might take the speech to mean that England had designs there. How lucky that she had overheard Mr. Greville saying that; she knew nothing about Portugal and less about Africa, but the lucky shot enabled her to damp her mistress’s enthusiasm. Unctuous puppy, the Baroness muttered to herself. Barely turned twenty, and presuming to make speeches and set himself up … Oh, her darling had better be careful.

Victoria snapped at her not to talk about things she didn’t understand, but a few minutes later went to tell Albert that he must write to the King of Portugal immediately and explain that the speech had no political significance at all.

In June they went to the Derby. It was a democratic gesture, for no sovereign had mixed with the crowd at Epsom before, and the people gave them both a reception that brought tears to the Queen’s eyes. Her people. They were rough and dirty and rather frightening at close quarters, but hardly as dangerous as Melbourne made them seem. How they cheered her! Even the little children waved. The sight of them made her feel quite sentimental toward the child she herself carried. It was wonderful to be Queen and to be popular. It was wonderful to feel that the crowd loved her, and in return she could love them.

This almost made up for the fact that still all was not well with Albert. In spite of her gesture over the Abolitionists, he wasn’t happy. She refused to admit that lecturing him over Portugal might have spoiled anything. She had to point out his blunder; he was inexperienced and she couldn’t let him make mistakes in her name. As she had said at the time, everything he did was scrutinized, just because he was the husband of the Queen of England.

She sat very upright in the carriage as they drove to the race course and said firmly to herself that being Queen was all that mattered, and that it was enough to know her people loved her.

But a few days later her confidence in the affection of the masses suffered a blow from which it never quite recovered.

As she was driving out from Buckingham Palace with Albert to pay a duty visit to her mother, an attempt was made on her life.

She was looking the other way, and it was Albert who saw the figure first, leaning against the railings of Green Park, pointing something that glinted in the early-evening sunlight. The next moment a shot cracked past them. The terrified horses whinnied and stopped; the small carriage with its guard of two postilions pulled up, and Victoria, turning, saw the assassin with the pistol smoking in his hand.

The next moment Albert’s arms were round her, trying to draw her down out of sight, and she heard his voice, trembling with anxiety, asking if she were hurt. In that moment of nightmare she looked up at him and laughed. She was so brave it was incongruous. She was pregnant and a woman, and a man had tried to kill her. She should have fainted. Albert had no time to reflect on the character of the woman he had married, who Stockmar said was less intelligent than he was, because in those few seconds he saw only one thing. The assassin had two pistols.

“Victoria … in God’s name, get down!” It was too late to do anything but try and shield her with his own body, and as he did so he felt her stiffen, refusing to be frightened into sheltering on the floor. The second and last shot smashed into the wall just above her head.

There had been quite a crowd of people hanging about in groups to watch the Queen drive out, or strolling through the Green Park. Up to that moment, they had hesitated, petrified by the scene. But as the sound of that final shot cracked through the still air, the spell of horror was broken. They came running toward the man, who stood quite motionless, slowly lowering his pistol and staring at the face of the Queen he had tried to murder. He was still in the same position, his eyes fixed in a lunatic’s glare, when the cry was raised:

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Victoria turned slowly to look; people were running toward the fellow with fists and sticks raised. Only then did she quail.

“Oh, Albert,” she whispered, and hid her face against his shoulder. He could see, though she could not, that her attacker was surrounded. The next moment they would witness a mob lynching.

“Drive on!” he shouted to the coachman. “Use your whip, but get the Queen out of this!” The carriage jerked forward and began to race down the road. As they turned out of Constitution Hill, Victoria gently freed herself and sat upright.

“Oh, Victoria, are you all right?”

Dear Albert. How worried he looked. And he had put his own body between her and the assassin. It was worth nearly being murdered to see him look at her like that.

“Perfectly all right, just trembling a little. Darling Albert, don’t be anxious: I’m not hurt in the least. I was more frightened of seeing that wretch torn to pieces than anything else. And let me sit up now. People mustn’t think that I’m injured.”

And she drew herself very upright and ordered the coachman to drive at the usual pace. But she held on tightly to Albert’s hand under cover of the carriage rug, and he comforted himself with the thought that she had been afraid and womanly after all, in spite of that extraordinary, defiant laugh at a moment which might well have been her last. It was as if all her roistering, arrogant ancestors had spoken through her lips.

Poor child, he thought tenderly, resolutely forgetting that he had been the more alarmed of the two, poor little Victoria, so small and frail, and the poor unborn infant … He had to bite his lips to avoid shedding tears of emotion. There was a good deal of guilt mixed with the sentiment, because of the way he had treated her recently. For the rest of the evening and for the whole of the next week, Baron Stockmar’s advice was put aside, and Victoria’s happiness blossomed.

They went to the opera, where the audience rose and gave them a tremendous ovation. There was a special cheer for the Prince, whose attempt to shield the Queen had been widely repeated, and when they saw Victoria, very regal and yet so tiny, bowing from the royal box, they cheered and clapped and sang the National Anthem.

The Queen’s unpopularity was momentarily forgotten in the general fury at the attack upon her. The heartless little autocrat of the Flora Hastings affair, the partisan monarch who had retained the Whigs because she liked their leader at her dinner parties, became a national heroine, and for a brief moment Albert shared in the reflection of her glory. For a foreigner, he had come out of the affair quite well. Even the aristocracy admitted that, though a few sour voices declared that, had they been in his place, they’d have knocked the scoundrel flying before he took a second shot.

For a little while the sun shone on them again, both in private as well as before the world. Victoria was happy, even-tempered, kindly; everyone round her breathed more easily. Albert loved her, she was sure of it; he was being just as affectionate and companionable as before. Nothing had been wrong with him at all; she had simply imagined it. She went back to her daily conferences with Melbourne and her Ministers, dealt with her vast correspondence, and shut her husband out of her public life as firmly as before.

As Stockmar pointed out to Albert, she thought she had won. Not consciously, of course. God forbid that the Prince should think she was calculating. But his foolish relaxation had led her to believe that he was content with a sop like the presidency of the Abolitionists and a round of applause at the opera because he had tried to prevent his wife being murdered in front of him.

Slowly Albert retreated into himself, so gradually that Victoria couldn’t be sure at first that the tension between them was not in her imagination. In an effort to please him, she went down to Windsor more often and stayed longer, but he spent so much time away from her walking and hunting that, in a burst of jealousy, she insisted on his returning for lunch, which effectively spoiled those relaxations.

The idyll was over, and in bewilderment she knew it. Her social activities were curtailed by her advancing pregnancy, and a morbid fancy that she was going to die like her cousin Charlotte became so strong that she ordered Claremont, the house where the mother and child had died, to be prepared for her own confinement. By the end of June her nerves were taut to breaking point; she cried very easily, lost her temper twenty times a day, and horrified Melbourne by the vigor of her interference in affairs of Government.

Day by day he watched her, and because he loved her as he had never loved any human being in his life, he knew that underneath the arrogance and tantrums she was desperately unhappy and afraid. And this same love divined the reason. Melbourne was not taken in by the domestic play between husband and wife; he saw through the polite attentions and courtesies exchanged in public. He was not deceived. He had suffered the misery of a wrecked marriage too acutely himself not to sense the same deadly atmosphere in others.

He also admitted that in this instance inaction was not the right policy. All his life he had avoided taking sides or forcing a decision, but lethargy was his besetting sin, and when his marriage lay in ruins, lethargy had helped him bear it. Base metals bend under the weight of circumstances, but the fine-tempered steel of the Queen’s nature would eventually break. He could not stand by and let that happen to her, as he had let things happen to himself.

One late June afternoon at Windsor he asked to see her privately.