Love and Romance by King Albert and Queen Elisabeth of Belgium

The love story of King Albert of Belgium began in the reign of the late King Leopold II of Belgium. There was a particular chair near the window on which the King's nephew and heir was as a boy sometimes allowed to sit. Now and then the grim old monarch would put aside his pen, forget matters of State, and give himself up to simple conversation with the boy. So it happened one day at the age of 15 that the boy Albert, who was to follow his uncle to the throne of Belgium, gave utterance to his intentions with regard to marriage.

 He looked up at the wise, cynical, and much-feared King and said, “I shall marry a girl with small hands and small feet and fair hair.”

 “Is that all?” asked the King, much amused.

 “Well, no. I shall love her.”

 So said Albert, as a boy, and when the time came that he must think of marriage seriously, he adhered to his boyish idea.

There was one princess whom King Leopold, for political purposes, was particularly eager to see wedded to his nephew. He spoke of her continually, and one day got so far as to issue an ultimatum.

“I have made up my mind. I shall announce the betrothal,” he said.

“Then I shall deny it,” was Albert's prompt reply.

And even Leopold, not altogether a stranger to scandal, dared not face such a position as would arise if his nephew publicly repudiated an arrangement. But Leopold had himself known what loveless marriage was, and behind the grim exterior was a heart not entirely unkind; and, indeed, the ageing monarch was devoted to his heir. He decided at last to let him have his own way, and said no more.

There came a day when he went for a holiday into Bavaria. Keen on mountaineering, he sought excitement in the Bavarian Alps as guest of the Duke Carl Theodor, a genial, much-loved petty monarch, who combined with his excellence as a ruler high skill as an optician. He was greatly assisted by his daughter, Princess Elisabeth, a woman who had en deared herself not only to the court, but to the whole people by her beauty, her charm, and her never failing thought for others.

One of those “others” on this occasion was the young Belgian Prince, her father's guest. He was delighted with his reception in Bavaria. He was delighted with the Princess Elisabeth. Here was a case of love at first sight in royal circles if ever there was one. Prince Albert contrived that he spent much of his time in the company of his host's daughter, and it was soon noticed that she displayed no reluctance to fall in with his plans.

She even dared to assist them, and used that time worn device of those who visit the Alps of suggesting that the Prince must not go home without having plucked for himself from a mountain crag a spray of edelweiss. Of course, the Prince would do so, and of course the Princess knew the very best spot for finding the elusive plant.

Prince Albert of Belgium returned from that day's trip the accepted suitor of Princess Elisabeth of Bavaria. On his return to his own country the Prince could talk to his uncle of little else than his betrothed. We may even be permitted to picture the old man becoming a little bored at the love-sick Prince's ceaseless recital of her qualities.

“She plays the piano magnificently,” said Prince Albert. “She is a wonderful player.”

“Is that so?” commented the King, who had no taste whatever for music. “Well, if she insists on playing to you when she is your wife, remember that you insisted on marrying her.”

And Prince Albert did insist on marrying her — as soon as possible. The wedding was arranged to take place in Munich instead of Brussels, a fact that pleased the Bavarians immensely, for it gave them an opportunity to express their devotion to the Princess as well as to show how they could welcome the bridegroom whom they deeply admired.

Great were the festivities and the merry makings that preceded the wedding. On their return to Brussels after the wedding, the Princess showed her intention of sharing her husband's work and devoting herself to him and his interests. Besides the many projects for industrial and scientific advancement which Prince Albert was anxious to foster, there was the social life of the capital to be considered.

For years King Leopold had lived in semi-retirement; but his nephew and his niece set to work to get society's wheels turning once more, and when, on the death of Leopold, they became King and Queen, they were able to restore the lost glories of Court life in Belgium, opening closed palaces, cleaning up their dismal facades, entertaining, paying visits, and putting new life into what had been for so long a moribund social body.

 But for the royal pair this did not mean any loss of touch with their people. Whilst the Court began to glitter once more, and Belgium could realise that it did possess a King and Queen, neither of the totter lost any essential humanity.

The King has been chaffed about his humanity. Always devoted to his children, he used to set aside in their younger days as many hours out of the 24 as he could spare to being with them. “In Germany,” said a visitor from that country to him one day, “men have other matters to engage their attention.”

Instantly King Albert replied, “I have noticed it without envy.”

The coming of war and the ravaging of their country was a terrible affliction for them, for neither could forget that Brussels was held by Bavarian troops, now the Queen's “enemies,” and often it must have occurred to her that many of those men who, as armed sentries, paced the streets of the capital, had been present at the betrothal feast in Munich on the eve of her wedding and had shared her happiness on that occasion.

But the heart of the Queen was held in bonds of love to her husband, and by his side she saw through those dreadful years, cheering the wounded, doing all that she could to alleviate the suffering of her subjects, loyal to the King, and giving unrestrained devotion to his people.

They have suffered much, these two, but the unswerving affection which has bound them together has brought its reward in increased happiness and the respect and admiration of the whole world.  – by The Hon. Mrs. Francis Lascelles,  The Mail, February 27, 1932