Back at Buckingham Palace, we had a precious half an hour alone together in my dressing-room; we sat on the sofa and talked, and I gave him his ring, which he put on at once. I put my hand in his, and he turned my wedding ring round on my finger (an absent little gesture I was to come to know very well) and said, ‘Now we are man and wife, nothing must ever come between us. There must never be a secret which we don’t both share. Promise me that.’
‘I promise,’ I said. Looking back, I wonder why he asked for that, of all the things he might have had from me in those euphoric moments. Was he already worried about his position? Did he think that he had married the woman but not the Queen? But at the time, it seemed quite a reasonable request to me, and I was willing to promise him anything in the world he wanted. If I took it to mean personal secrets rather than State secrets – well, as it happened, there proved to be no need to keep the latter from him; and the former question never arose. He knew my whole heart, then and afterwards; and I believed I knew his.
After the wedding breakfast, and the toasts, and the cutting of the vast cake – nine feet across and weighing three hundred pounds, decorated with a model of Britannia (instead of the traditional Hymen) blessing the bridal pair, and a vast quantity of turtles and cupids, one of whom held an open book inscribed with that blessed date, the 10th of February 1840 – I went upstairs to take off my wedding dress, and put on one of white silk trimmed with swansdown, and to exchange my lace veil for a white bonnet with a sprig of orange-blossom pinned to the ribbon. When I was ready, Lord M. came in to see me alone.
When we had covered one or two matters of business, we talked of the wedding feast and of the cake: ‘It couldn’t have been any smaller,’ he commented. ‘Little pieces are being sent to the farthest corners of the earth, you know. I believe the American diplomatic circle in particular has been urgent for slices. Countless little girls in Boston and Connecticut will be ruining their digestions and dreaming of white satin, thanks to you.’
Then I spoke of the ceremony. ‘The Duke of Cambridge would keep talking – and so loudly,’ I complained.
‘His comments were very good-natured,’ Lord M. replied. ‘And it’s by way of a family trait, ma’am: your royal uncle King William was famed for commenting aloud during Divine Service.’
I laughed at that. ‘Well, I suppose it was not so disconcerting as my uncle Sussex sobbing all the way through my wedding,’ I said.
‘No doubt he was deeply affected – as I was. I must admit to calling on a second handkerchief when Your Majesty spoke the responses so clearly and with such feeling.’
I was pleased. ‘Well, I do think it went off well.’
‘Nothing could have gone off better,’ he said. ‘It was the most complete thing; and the people were in such good humour.’
‘I’m glad the sun came out for them,’ I said. ‘Poor wet things – waiting so faithfully just for a glimpse of us.’
‘Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,’ he said.
I reached for his hand. ‘Yes,’ I said earnestly, ‘and I am happy. From the very first moment of my marriage, I felt it must be a foretaste of Heaven. God allows us this, so that we shall know just a little what is to come.’
His large, dry hands folded over mine, and for an instant I saw him tremble on the brink of disintegration. ‘Oh my dear—’ he said in a breaking voice, his eyes shining with tears; and then he caught himself back, and caught up the improper address. ‘Oh my dear ma’am, I pray you will find marriage a great comfort.’
The clock struck the three-quarters, and there was a scratching at the door. ‘I must go,’ I said.
He nodded. His eyes held mine for one moment more. ‘God bless you,’ he said, and then released my hand.
The door opened, and Albert was there. ‘The carriage is ready,’ he said.
Lord M. stood aside, and I put my hand through Albert’s arm and he led me towards the stairs.
‘Such a brim that bonnet has!’ he murmured to me. ‘I can hardly see your dear little face hidden inside. How shall I manage to kiss it, I wonder?’
‘Do you mean to kiss it?’ I asked, laughing.
‘As soon as we are in the carriage,’ he said.
‘That would be most improper, to kiss a lady in a post-chaise,’ I said demurely.
‘But you forget, you are not a lady now, you are my wife,’ he said, and we both laughed heartily.
Downstairs we said goodbye to Mamma, and hurried out to our carriage. We set off just about four o’clock, and the clouds were banking up again and making it seem darker than it should be. It was an eventful drive, for there was an immense crowd of people outside the Palace, which hardly lessened all the way to Windsor, for the road was lined almost every yard with people waiting to get a glimpse of us. We were not a very grand sight, for unlike most newly-weds in those days, we did not have a shiny new chariot for the occasion: we rattled along in one of the old but comfortable travelling-coaches, with postilions in undress-livery and only a small escort. But from the first we were joined by the most enthusiastic amateur outriders anyone could have wanted, young men in gigs and men of all ages on horseback, galloping along beside us, hooting and cheering and waving their hats, disputing possession of the road with us and putting themselves in strong danger of finishing the day in a ditch. They only dropped back when their horses foundered, and their places were immediately taken by other cavaliers with fresher mounts and ever louder halloos. Albert thought it rather impertinent that they peered in at us through the windows and called out our names, but I thought it all the best fun, and a nicer escort by far than a staid troop of uniformed cavalry would have been. When we passed through Eton, although it was dark the boys were all out, lining the road with torches and giving us the most touching welcome. And then at last, at seven o’clock, we arrived at Windsor Castle.
First we explored the suite of rooms that had been prepared for us, admiring the little personal touches Lehzen had provided, of flowers and books and favourite music on the piano-top. Albert seemed as excited as I that this was to be our very first home together, and we ran from room to room like children, with the dogs, whom we had found waiting for us, racing and jumping around us excitedly. Then we separated to change our clothes, and when I was ready I went to our sitting-room and found Albert there in his Windsor coat (which suited him so well) thoughtfully playing the piano. There was something so ethereal about the cast of his beautiful face as he bent over the keys, that for a moment my heart drew breath, with a feeling of awe that was touched with fear. It could not be that this loveliness was for me; it would be taken from me, I thought; I had not deserved it. And then Dash, who had brushed past me in the doorway, ran over to him and barked, and the spell was broken. He looked up and smiled at me, and I knew all was well.
‘Oh, don’t stop,’ I said as he pushed back the seat and stood up.
‘I have something better to do than play the piano,’ he said. We met in the middle of the room, and he took me into his arms. ‘Now at last I have you to myself! What a hard thing it is for a man to contrive to be alone with his own wife on his wedding day!’
‘Well, and now you have me, what will you do with me?’ I asked.
‘I shall show you,’ said he; and he did. After a while he broke off from this activity, of which I felt I could never tire, and cupped my face in his hands (I loved him to do that! I loved the touch of his hands on me, those lean, strong fingers, and to have them touch my face, the centre of consciousness as it were, seemed the most intimate thing of all.). He looked down at me searchingly, and said, ‘Dear, sweet, sunny face! What a lucky man I am! And how glorious it is to be quite, quite alone with you – no courtiers or well-wishers or servants or friends. Just myself and my kleines Frauchen. Do you like being alone with me, Victoria?’
What a question! Absolute privacy – to know I was not being watched and spied on – was what I had longed for all my childhood; but even better was the sense of not being lonely any more, of ha
ving someone with whom I could express myself freely, not have to watch my words and guard my conduct. From now on it would be I and Albert alone. His words ‘alone with me’ might have been held to be a logical contradiction; but in fact to be with him and with no-one else was the best and truest solitude.
He was kissing me again, but suddenly I was feeling dizzy, with that awful black rushing inside the head, like a sandslip, that was the forerunner of a fainting-fit. He must have felt something, for he drew back his head and said, ‘What is it? You have gone quite pale.’
‘Dizzy,’ I said, and staggered. His arms were round me at once, and he almost carried me to the sofa and sat me down, put his strong hand on the back of my neck and bent my head down to my lap. In a moment I felt better, and was able to sit up. ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ I apologised. ‘I’m not usually so missish.’
‘You have been through a very tiring day,’ he said, and then smiled suddenly. ‘We must also remember that I am a great deal taller than you, kleines blümschen. You had been standing for ten minutes with your head tilted as far back as it would go, like a visitor to the Sistine Chapel! No wonder you fainted. In future we must do our caressing sitting down!’
‘In future,’ I said wonderingly. ‘Oh, to think that we can kiss each other whenever we want! No-one to stop us, or say it is not proper! We can be completely free with each other!’
That seemed to give him pause. He possessed himself of my hand and looked at me thoughtfully, turning my wedding ring on my finger as if it helped him find the right words. ‘What is it?’ I said after a moment, when he still seemed not to know how to begin. ‘Is there something wrong? You must tell me, beloved, if there is. You must keep nothing from me.’
‘No, nothing wrong,’ he said, and I thought his cheeks were perhaps a little more pink than before, and understood what we had come to. ‘I wanted to speak to you about – tonight.’
‘You mean – what will happen later?’ I said, as diffident as him.
He nodded. ‘It will be something very new for you, and perhaps – perhaps a little surprising. Will you be afraid?’
‘Oh no!’ I cried at once, pressing his hand. ‘I could never be afraid of anything with you!’
‘You know that – that I would never do anything to harm you?’ he said anxiously. I understood what his trouble was. He was afraid of offending my maiden delicacy, and perhaps making me dislike him afterwards; afraid that I would find it so distasteful that it would spoil our perfect love. I wanted to tell him that where he was concerned I had no maiden delicacy, but I thought perhaps they were not quite the right words.
‘I trust you completely, dearest love,’ I said, ‘and whatever you do, I know that it will be right.’ He still looked troubled, and I said, ‘You will not be all alone, my love! Whatever it is, we will be doing it together, because we love each other.’
That seemed to please him. ‘Yes, of course we will,’ he said; and then, ‘It’s just that I believe – I understand – it may not be quite comfortable – just at first, for the – for you. The first time, you understand—’
A thought struck me. ‘You do know what to do?’
‘Of course I do,’ he said quickly. He sounded almost indignant, and it tickled my unruly sense of humour.
‘Dear love, I know you are the most thorough scholar! But have you—?’
‘No,’ he said, holding my gaze steadily, though his cheeks were warm. ‘I could not have done that, knowing I was pledged to you.’
I was brought to silence. I took his hand and lifted it to my lips and kissed it fervently. I had no words for the feelings that rushed through me, the adoration, the gratitude. It was not a thing I could ever have asked him afterwards, but oh, I was glad to know! and glad that no doubt or memory would ever have the power to come between us! In the society in which I had grown up, women of nobility had been expected to turn a blind eye to their husbands’ peccadilloes; but I could never, never have been one of them!
The long day and the excitement and agitation had had their effect on me. Dinner was served to us in our sitting-room, but when I got up from the sofa, I felt dizzy again, and by the time I was sitting at the table I had developed a sick headache, and the very thought of food was too much for me. I could not eat a thing, and was obliged to lie down again on the sofa; but ill or not, I never, never spent such an evening! Albert sat beside me on a footstool the whole time, and his kindness and affection gave me such feelings of heavenly happiness that I could never before have hoped to know. To look at his lovely face and know he was my husband, to be kissed and held in his arms, to be called by the names of tenderness that I had never heard used to me before, was bliss beyond belief. When we finally rose to go to bed, I had no thought in my mind other than the joy of knowing that the being together did not have to stop there.
I woke in near darkness, and to a kiss on my cheek. For a moment I was bewildered; then I realised he had got up and drawn back the curtains, letting in the first poor light of dawn, and had paused on the way back at my side of the bed to kiss me.
I had been looking up all the while into his beautiful, beautiful face, and now he said, ‘Well, little wife, do you know me?’
‘Husband,’ I said, and smiled. ‘Come back to bed.’ He came back and wriggled down under the covers, drawing me into his arms, and I nudged and snuggled like a puppy until I was as close to him as I could be, arms and legs interlocked, my head on his shoulder and his cheek resting on my hair.
‘Oh, this is good,’ he said. ‘This is the best of all.’ In the blissful heat of our intertwined bodies, in the safe dimness of our bedroom, I could not but agree with him. He smelled so nice, too, like sunwarmed wood, a safe, homelike smell. I pressed my nose against the skin of his neck and drifted a little while on a sea of bliss. ‘Darling little wife,’ he murmured, far away and close, drifting on the same warm swell, ‘I love you so much. Darling, delicious little wife.’
The proceedings of the night, I reflected, had certainly been bewildering, and if it had been anyone but Albert I might have been tempted to suppose he had got it wrong. How God could have ordered things so unecstatically was a puzzle to me. But yet at the heart of my half-indignant surprise there was a lack of surprise, as when one comes to the end of a mathematical calculation, knowing the answer has been correctly arrived at. There was a sort of inevitable logic to it. And as things went on, it did occur to me that although Albert was too much a scholar and a gentleman to have approached this ceremony without having read through the service, there might yet be something owing to skill which could not be learned from a book. Certainly we managed better the second time; and when we woke again in the early hours of the morning, I was even able to help things along. I began to see how it might be possible for me to become more a partner and less a patient, as it were – to carve myself out a more active rôle; for I have never liked to be idle and passive. And it did seem to me that my first tentative moves towards partnership were well received by my beloved, who kissed me afterwards with great fervency, and held me very tightly for a very long time.
There is a curious idea at loose in the world that Queens (or Kings) are blind, deaf and dumb, that they do not know anything beyond what is explained to them in official communiqués. Sometimes we go along with the fiction, for there is a great deal that it is more convenient for us not to admit to knowing, and an even greater deal which we are far above noticing, or caring about if we do notice. Into this latter category comes the idea which has been put up from time to time (I think the Duchess of Bedford may have been the first, but she was by no means the last) that Albert did not really love me, that the passionate devotion was all on my side. I have never cared a straw for that opinion, utterly misguided as it was, and based most often on jealousy, but I may as well take the time here to record its falseness. Albert’s nature was even more shy and reserved than my own, for where I was able to express my affection only for those closest to me, whom I knew very well and trusted comp
letely, he was able to show it only for me and the children, and even then only in private. His natural diffidence, shyness, and pride made him seem stiff and cold to outsiders, though he was the warmest and also the funniest man in the bosom of his own family. Those observers too dull to see past the ends of their own noses, and those who believed a woman’s worth could be measured by the length of her eyelashes, concluded he could not possibly love me as much as I loved him.
Let them think it. It never troubled me in the least, for I knew the truth, and only I knew all the truth. To the end of his life, until his last illness, we repaired at the end of each day to our bed, as to a ship in which to fly away across the waters of the night and escape from the world and all its vexations; and in its warm darkness, with our arms locked about each other, we could talk and touch and be free as nowhere else. The Albert I knew then, the captain of my dark ship, was mine alone; and my heart lifts in triumph even now to think of the great love he bore me, undeserving as I was. In me alone did he find comfort, pleasure, peace, meaning for his life. The rest of the world was variously a cold and hostile place, threatening, without colour; a place where, like an animal in the wild, he could never be entirely off his guard. But when he sank into my arms he took off all his armour of reserve, and was as tender and undefended as a naked child.
People always came more easily to me than to him: I judged them by instinct, knowing within a very few minutes if they could be trusted or not, if they were ‘for me’ or not; and my miserable childhood had given me a tough hide, flexible, but hard to penetrate. I had been abandoned by my father, betrayed by my mother, bullied and harassed by all those around me, and it had left me longing for love, needing it, craving it. But there was, by nature it seems, a core of steel in me that would never let me be defeated, that would always hold on; some part of me, I suppose, that always knew I would have what I wanted in the end. But Albert’s childhood grief – the sudden and violent loss of his mother – had only made him brittle. He did not easily understand, and therefore did not trust people; and people will not give where they do not receive. His judgements, coming from the head, took no account of the irrationality of humankind, so he was often hurt. I hurt him, God forgive me, many and many a time! But it was not my fault. When we quarrelled (as we did often, and mightily!) it did not touch more than the surface of me; I knew, because I did not think about it, that it was possible to go on loving deeply and surely through the most violent altercation. It was as though my ship had a deep keel, which passed through the agitated squalls of the surface and steadied itself in the always-calm water far below. But my poor beloved Albert did not know these things with his heart, but with his head, and had to think them out afresh and painfully every time. It was only in the safe darkness of our night-winged ship that he could put intellect aside and assure himself without words of the great love we had for each other.
I, Victoria Page 23