King Albert I (1875-1934) and Queen Elisabeth (1876-1965)

Two of my favorite Belgian royal ladies, Queen Elisabeth and her daughter-in-law, Princess Lilian, had much in common. Both were vivacious, intelligent, spirited, elegant, charming, forthright, brave, determined and loyal. Each had an intense love for her husband and sovereign. Both were war heroines, although Lilian is rarely given credit for her courage during World War II, particularly during the royal family's deportation and captivity in Germany and Austria. Elisabeth, on the other hand, is generally admired for her tireless support of her people during two brutal invasions, her nursing efforts during World War I and her attempts to save Jews from the Nazis during World War II. Both Elisabeth and Lilian were generous humanitarians, passionate patronesses of medicine. Both created beautiful, cultivated environments. Each sought the friendship of the most interesting personalities of her time. It is not surprising that Elisabeth seems to have enjoyed Lilian and even to have played an important role in encouraging her romance and marriage with her son. It is also understandable that King Leopold III, who deeply admired his mother, would choose a similar woman to be his wife.

When Albert was returning by automobile to Brussels from Louvain in January [1921?] his vehicle knocked down two children in the village of Kesselds; a girl of five was killed outright and a boy of eight, seriously injured.

Albert, who was in the car, was greatly perturbed and carried the body of the little girl to her parents' cottage and sought to console them in their loss. He fetched two doctors to attend the injured boy. They had dashed out into the road from behind a truck which obscured the oncoming car and were under the wheels of the royal automobile before the driver saw them. (Wanda Larson, Elisabeth: A Biography: From Bavarian Princess to Queen of the Belgians, 1997, p. 87)

On the stroke of five, the military band in the next room struck up a waltz; the doors of the Charlemagne salon opened, and the procession entered. At its head was the slight figure of Princess Elisabeth, walking with slow steps. She wore a white satin dress cut just low enough to show her smooth delicately-shaped shoulders and the graceful column of her throat. A simple coronet circled her chestnut curls. There was a burning blush on her cheeks- she was obviously moved. The Prince's face matched the crimson ribbon on his breast. They talked to each other as they moved along; the Princess, who looked even lovelier than on the previous night, gazed up at her tall cavalier.

When they had taken their seats, she had eyes for no one but the Prince who was on her left. She took no heed of the King of Roumania on her other side, the Regent who was seated a little further away, nor of the score of princes and princesses who were present. The tiny pages shyly offered their dishes that were handed to them by the footmen. I noticed that the young Princess scarcely took anything; she ate nothing, but talked incessantly to Prince Albert who would nervously crumble his bread whenever the King of Roumania claimed his fiancée's attention for a minute. The two seemed to be absorbed in a world of their own. No one could see them without realizing that this Prince and Princess were true lovers, and that this was their hour; the throne, the historic past evoked by the setting, their exalted rank, their dazzling surroundings might have been non-existent. Their only thoughts were for each other, for their future life together. Their love shed such a lustre over them that everything paled beside them, or, rather, was transfigured, gaining in nobility what was lost in brilliance. They were in love, and at that moment, they were only a man and a maid. The guests themselves were metamorphosed. No longer were they kings, duchesses, generals, ladies-in-waiting- the human touch had made them oblivious of their rank, and in the presence of the lovers, they had become simple men and women. The lights streamed down on radiant faces, on shoulders that would have been as lovely without the glitter of necklaces, eyes that would have sparkled as brilliantly without the answering flash of coronets...