But Albert doubted whether even Sir Robert would have been able to stand up against Lord Palmerston.
There was tragic news from Uncle Leopold. Aunt Louise, who had been getting weaker for some time, had died.
Victoria, who had called her the best beloved of all her aunts, was desolate.
‘Poor dear Uncle Leopold,’ she cried. ‘It is the second time in his life that he has been left alone.’
It was very tragic and the Queen could not help thinking of the dear children who were left motherless.
‘How I wish we were nearer,’ she sighed.
As it was, there was nothing to be done but write long and loving letters to Uncle Leopold, assure him that both she and Albert thought of him constantly, read through his dear letters and remember the happy times she had spent in the company of dear dead Louise.
Chapter XIX
NAUGHTY BERTIE
Baron Stockmar disliked the Prince of Wales. The boy was as unlike his father as it was possible for any child to be. All that the Baron had admired in his protégé, Albert, was missing in Bertie. Albert was reserved, Bertie was loquacious. Bertie already showed signs of being a social success; he was charming the female servants – a very bad sign, noted the Baron. Bertie was gay, sunny-natured and enjoyed amusing people and being amused. In other words Bertie was frivolous. Although he was now learning moderately well he could not exactly be called academically bright. His brothers and sisters – with the exception of Vicky – were inclined to bestow on him that sort of hero worship which was not good for his character. Alfred and Alice were his constant companions. He was very chivalrous towards Alice and shielded her when they were in trouble; as for Alfred he was prepared to take any inferior role in their games just for the joy of serving Bertie.
Bertie would soon be ten years old and in Baron Stockmar’s view, he was proceeding at no small speed down the road to ruin.
Something must be done.
Once his mind had been made up, the Baron lost no time in offering his opinion to the Prince.
‘I am deeply concerned about the future of the Prince of Wales,’ said the Baron.
The Prince was all attention.
‘I am not very impressed by his character.’
‘He has always been a source of anxiety to me,’ agreed the Prince, ‘as he is to Victoria.’
‘We must think, my dear Prince,’ said Stockmar, ‘of that boy’s future. When he is of age he will take precedence over you. When I contemplate that I am truly grieved.’
The Prince’s emotions were such that he could not allow himself to examine them. They were at the root of his feelings for Bertie – and perhaps the Queen’s. This boy who had few good qualities according to his standards – and they had become the Queen’s – was already superior in rank to his father. Indeed he was second only to the Queen. There was in the Prince’s mind – although he could not examine this either – a certain pleasure that Bertie’s conduct should give them cause for criticism.
‘I am grieved too,’ said the Prince and added hastily: ‘I continually ask myself what can be done for his good.’
‘That is what we must consider. This man Birch for instance, is he the right tutor for the Prince of Wales?’
‘Bertie has learned a little since he came.’
‘A little! He should have learned a great deal.’
‘Bertie has never been studious.’
‘My dear Prince, if Bertie has decided he does not wish to study he must be made to change his mind.’
‘There were plenty of canings in the past.’
‘Perhaps there should have been more in the present.’
‘Mr Birch has been given a free hand. He believes that his method with Bertie will bring results and to a certain extent it has.’
‘To an infinitesimal extent,’ said the Baron. ‘And that is not good enough.’
The Prince agreed.
‘So,’ went on Stockmar, ‘what I propose is that we supplant Mr Birch. And I have not been idle. I think I have the man.’
‘My dear Baron, what should we do without you?’
Stockmar smiled complacently. ‘You know how close your affairs are to my heart. I think of you constantly even when I am racked with pain.’ The Baron whose illnesses were as important to him as his love of power digressed slightly to tell the Prince of his latest symptoms. Then he went on: ‘It is Frederick Gibbs, a barrister, who I think will fill the post admirably. He is a very serious man. That is what the Prince of Wales needs. There is too much unbridled laughter wherever he is.’
Albert was in complete agreement with the Baron as always.
So Mr Frederick Gibbs was summoned to the palace.
Bertie stood before his parents who were seated side by side on the sofa.
‘Bertie,’ said his mother, ‘your Papa and I have something to tell you.’
Bertie waited.
‘Your dear Papa and I are not satisfied with your progress.’ Bertie’s attention wandered. Another of the lectures, which he received from time to time, was clearly about to begin. He believed he knew how it would go. You must work harder; you must be more serious; life is not all play, and so on. And Mr Birch had promised him that they would go on an imaginary journey round the world; they would have the atlas out on the table and they would imagine they were with Sir Francis Drake. Mr Birch would play the part of Sir Francis and afterwards Bertie would play it with Alfred and Alice and even Helena and Louise could be shipmates.
As his mind wandered on delights to come he heard his mother say: ‘So Mr Gibbs will be taking the place of Mr Birch and Papa and I are sure that then we shall see some improvement.’
Bertie started and began to stammer. ‘Mr B … B … B …’
The Queen and the Prince exchanged glances. There you see, he stammers just as he used to!
His father was frowning at him. ‘Good Baron Stockmar and I have worked out a course of lessons for you. If you do not already know why great care must be given to your education Mr Gibbs will explain to you. It will be necessary for you to work hard now. The time for play is over.’
‘But Mr Birch … he … he is not going away?’
‘Oh, Bertie,’ said the Queen, ‘don’t you ever listen? Papa has just been explaining. You should be thankful to have such a good kind Papa who has your welfare so much at heart.’
‘But … I love … Mr Birch. Mr Birch is a good man …’
Bertie’s lips trembled. How could he explain to the cold man who was his father, to the bland obtuse woman who was his mother, what Mr Birch meant to him?
‘Yes, we know that Mr Birch is a good man. Papa would not have chosen him as your tutor if he had not been. But a good man is not always the best tutor.’
Bertie could not speak. He was not afraid of his parents at that moment. He was only conscious of his misery.
‘I think,’ said the Queen severely, ‘that you had better go to your room, Bertie, and Papa and I will see you later when you have controlled yourself.’
As Bertie went they looked at each other and sighed.
‘Oh, yes,’ said the Queen, ‘it is certainly time there was more discipline.’
‘One can trust the dear Baron to find the right solution,’ said the Prince.
Meanwhile Bertie was lying on his bed, shaking with sobs. Suddenly he stopped and raising himself started to pummel his pillows furiously … As he did so he thought of his father’s cold, unloving face.
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.