Victoria Confesses (9781442422469)

by Meyer, Carolyn

  I nodded.

  “A warm bath twice a week,” he continued. “Windows open as much as possible, especially at night, to avoid the weakening effects of the air at Kensington.”

  At the end of the consultation Dr. Clark produced a pair of curious wooden clubs, explaining that they had been brought to England by British soldiers returning from India, where they were part of exercise routines. “I recommend that you use these Indian clubs for a certain period of time each day to strengthen your arms.”

  He summoned one of the royal guards familiar with their use. “Sergeant Owen has been exercising with them regularly and has achieved an admirable musculature. I have arranged with your mother for him to spend half an hour with you three times a week.”

  The sergeant demonstrated a series of movements, beginning slowly, then faster and faster, finally manipulating the clubs so rapidly that they became a blur. He handed me a pair of smaller clubs and guided me through a series of simple exercises that I performed rather clumsily. The sergeant saluted smartly and marched away, and the physician moved on to his next admonition.

  “Eat slowly, take small bites, and chew each mouthful thirty times. That’s the way to good health,” he said. “Avoid singing or reading aloud after meals, as this can cause an intake of air, which interferes with proper digestion.”

  Later, at dinner, I attempted to follow Dr. Clark’s prescription with a small portion of boiled beef: one, two, three, four, five, six—I was still chewing when someone addressed a question to me. I swallowed, made a reply, started on the next bite, got bored before I had reached nine, swallowed—how extremely tedious! Especially if one were the least bit hungry!

  I did find the wooden clubs VERY AMUSING and looked forward to my next training session with Sergeant Owen. The sergeant indeed had admirable musculature and a determinedly sober mien, and though I tried hard, nothing I said or did would induce him to smile.

  On a bitterly cold day in mid-January we returned to Kensington and discovered that we now occupied entirely new quarters.

  Mamma had long wished to move from the dark, cramped rooms on the ground floor and first floor of the palace to far brighter and more spacious sitting and sleeping apartments on the second floor—seventeen rooms in all—and she had gone ahead with her plan. I did not know until we arrived that she had arranged for the apartments to be redone and made ready for us, once again without consulting me.

  I was still to share a bedroom with Mamma—a VERY DEEP disappointment, for I yearned more than ever for a bedroom of my own. With such a large suite it was surely not a question of space. Our bedroom was very large and lofty and prettily furnished, though still no blue or purple was to be seen. Next to it were a little room for the maid and a dressing room for Mamma. A former gallery had been partitioned into three fine, cheerful rooms; one of them was my sitting room, next to it the study where I would do my lessons, and the third an anteroom. Dear Lehzen would take my former sitting room on the first floor—too far away, in my opinion.

  I spent several days arranging my books and deciding where my pictures should be hung and my growing collection of china figures displayed. By the end of the month everything was in place, and I had resumed my studies with Mr. Davys, who increased emphasis on geography and literature. Daisy and I read Madame de Sévigné’s memoirs together in French, and to gain fluency, I composed weekly letters to dear Aunt Louise.

  Sergeant Owen appeared according to schedule to lead me through a complicated routine that left my arms as weak as water. Dear Lehzen favored long, health-giving walks; the foulest weather was never a deterrent. Sweet little Dash went out with us and was VERY amusing.

  So it went through the remainder of the winter that I thought would NEVER end. With little gaiety or merriment, it was a very DULL and TEDIOUS sort of life. At last spring came, bringing with it some pleasure: opera season.

  We had a visit from Mamma’s brother, my uncle Ferdinand, accompanied by his two sons, Ferdinand and Augustus. In January my cousin Ferdinand had married Queen Maria da Gloria of Portugal by proxy, and he was on his way to Lisbon to join her. I did wonder how they felt at the prospect of meeting for the very first time the spouse to whom they were already married!

  “Our uncle Leopold arranged it all,” Ferdinand told me. “He has many ideas for how I should reorganize Portugal, and he has written everything out for me in a book.” As consort, Ferdinand explained, he would be the one to govern, though Dona Maria was the queen.

  That interested me very much. At some time in the future I would no doubt marry. Did Uncle Leopold intend that my husband, as consort, would be the one to govern, and I would have only the appearance of ruling? That idea would certainly require some discussion!

  Ferdinand was just nineteen and very good looking, with beautiful, dark eyes, though he did have a high-pitched voice and spoke through his nose in a peculiar way. His brother, Augustus, was also tall and handsome but had scarcely a word to say and seemed VERY DEEP. I liked these cousins much more than my other cousins, Alexander and Ernst Württemburg, who had visited a few years earlier and of whom I had been very fond until they left after Mamma’s humiliating performance.

  King William and Aunt Adelaide hosted a huge dinner and ball at Windsor to honor Ferdinand and celebrate his marriage to the Portuguese queen. No bâtards appeared, Mamma did nothing to antagonize the king, who appeared to be in good health, and we returned to Kensington. Mamma arranged two grand balls, one in fancy dress to which we all wore costumes and masks. I chose to go as a shepherdess in a flowered skirt and white apron. Had I been able to dress dear Dashy as a sheep, I would have, but instead I carried a toy lamb. It was a splendid ball, and I danced seven quadrilles before supper and was not in the least bit tired.

  My excellent cousin Ferdinand left for Portugal after only ten days, and I felt so very sad to see him go! His brother, Augustus, stayed on, silently reading a newspaper in my sitting room or helping me seal letters. We had a great deal in common, for he wrote in a journal every day, just as I did. I wept when Augustus, too, had to leave and for days felt very lonely without their company.

  In April I began singing lessons with Signor Luigi Lablache, just as I had dreamed of. Signor Lablache was a large man with a profusion of gray hair mingled with some black locks and comical eyebrows that gave him a clever expression. Nevertheless, I was so nervous that when he sat down at the piano and asked me to sing a few notes of a scale with him, I could not produce a single sound. Not even a squeak!

  “Ah, my dear princess,” he said kindly, “no one has ever been afraid of me. Please do not be the first!”

  Soon he had me singing Italian arias, sometimes solos and sometimes duets with Mamma, who had a very nice voice, and sometimes with Signor Lablache himself. Imagine, singing with the finest bass in all of England!

  We often discussed music, and often disagreed. He considered Mozart the greatest composer who ever lived. I respectfully took an opposing view. “I am a terribly modern person,” I told him, “and I prefer the Italians, Bellini and Rossini, for example, to any other.”

  Signor Lablache smiled and shook his head and waggled his eyebrows. “Mozart is the father of them all,” he insisted.

  Those lessons were the high point of my week; I wished I had a singing lesson EVERY DAY. We attended concerts in addition to the opera, and there were excursions to the zoological gardens. My mother frequently entertained distinguished guests to whom I was introduced, and we were invited to the homes of important people. All of this was with an eye to my future.

  I should have been contented with my life, but I was not. I needed mirth; I craved merriment. Instead, I endured the unending stresses and tensions of life at Kensington. I could not bear to be around the Conroy daughters, dull Victoire and insipid Jane, and avoided contact with them, which was not easily done. I had become fond of Lady Charlotte, duchess of Northumberland, but she fell out of favor when it was learned that she had asked King William for help in protecting Daisy
from Sir John’s determination to be rid of her.

  Lady Flora Hastings, always a great friend of Sir John and Lady Conroy, and of Mamma too, was excessively sharp-tongued and much too critical of dearest Daisy ever to be a friend of mine. Mamma avoided Aunt Adelaide, and she despised my dear old uncle, King William, who returned her sentiments. Trouble flared again and again between them. Sometimes the king was at fault; sometimes it was Mamma. When my brother, Charles, brought his wife, Mary, for a visit, the king refused to receive her, claiming that she was not of royal blood and therefore by tradition could not be admitted to the Royal Closet at St. James’s.

  Mamma was enraged. “I will not have my daughter-in-law insulted!” she fumed, and I could not blame her, for Mary was very sweet.

  My daily life had become a chess game. The challenge was to elude the knight—Sir John—and the trouble he created everywhere I turned. Even a dinner or a ball or a visit to the opera offered little relief and could spark an incident that escalated quickly into a battle. War at Kensington seemed inevitable.

  But then I learned that several VERY intriguing guests were expected to arrive for the celebration of my seventeenth birthday: my cousins Ernest and Albert and their father, the duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who was Mamma’s oldest brother. This was exciting news, because it was JUST POSSIBLE that one of these cousins would be my future husband.

  Chapter 17

  THE COBURGS, 1836

  The subject of my future husband had been under discussion for a long time. Now I was approaching my seventeenth year, an age at which other princesses had already been betrothed, if not actually married. I was never included in any of the discussions. If I could not be consulted on the color of my sitting room walls, I would certainly not be consulted on a future husband.

  Though she was out of favor with Mamma and Sir John, Lady Charlotte was a fine source of gossip on this important subject. A number of candidates representing nearly all parts of the continent had been suggested at one time or another. Certain members of the royal family hoped I would marry one of their own sons. I was rather fond of George of Cumberland, who had lost the sight in both eyes, but his father, the duke of Cumberland, was so ugly that everyone shuddered at the mention of him. I had no fondness at all for George of Cambridge, put forward as a possibility by his father, nor had he any affection for me.

  “The newspapers speculate that, if not an English cousin, then an Englishman of noble birth would make you a satisfactory consort,” Lady Charlotte reported. “If I were to offer an opinion, I would favor your Coburg cousins.”

  Fidi also offered an opinion. “I am very fond of them both,” she wrote. “Ernest is my favorite, so honest and good-natured, but Albert is much handsomer, and cleverer too. I shall be very curious to hear your opinion when you meet them.”

  Uncle Leopold, too, wrote to me about his Coburg nephews. I knew that my uncle was a great champion of Albert, the younger of the two; his seventeenth birthday was in August, three months after mine. “I think Albert would suit you very well, Victoria. I have given this a great deal of consideration, and I believe it would be a fine match. But you will soon judge that for yourself.”

  Ernest, a year older, would not do, my uncle explained, because he was heir to his father’s lands and titles.

  Unfortunately, as Mamma and Uncle Leopold were arranging for the visit of my Coburg cousins, King William had some definite ideas of his own. He had invited another King William—this one king of the Netherlands—to come from Holland with his two sons, Prince William and Prince Alexander of the house of Orange. My uncle the king made no secret that he favored such a match, and that made Uncle Leopold furious.

  “I am astonished at the conduct of the old king!” he wrote. “He has informed me that it would be highly desirable to put off the visit of your mother’s relatives for another year!”

  My Coburg relatives were already on their way, Mamma informed the king. It was too late to stop them.

  The Oranges arrived. King William and Queen Adelaide put on great entertainments for them, and there was a grand fête at St. James’s, which I, of course, attended. It was clear to me, as it must have been to everyone, that the two boys from Holland were not at all prepossessing. Both were VERY plain and looked heavy, dull, and frightened. I dismissed the idea of any sort of match almost as soon as I met them.

  “So much for the Oranges, dear uncle,” I wrote to Uncle Leopold, who must have been relieved. He made it clear that he set a very high store by his two nephews, and because I valued his advice above all others, I took this visit seriously.

  The Oranges had departed, and now the Coburgs arrived. I put on one of the dresses dear Aunt Louise had given me, a pale blue silk trimmed with blonde lace, with very full sleeves puffed up with plumpers, as was the fashion. While my hair was doing, Daisy read to me—a good thing, because I was excited and even a little nervous. Then, at a quarter of two in the afternoon, a servant came to my apartments and announced, “The gentlemen are in the Great Hall, madam.”

  Daisy smiled encouragingly as she held my hand and we descended two long flights of stairs. Uncle Ernest and his sons were waiting to be presented. I immediately liked what I saw.

  Both boys were very tall. Ernest had dark hair and fine, dark eyes and eyebrows, a most kind, honest, and intelligent expression, and a very good figure, but I saw at once that his nose and mouth were NOT good. Albert was just as tall, somewhat stouter, but EXTREMELY handsome. I found myself staring at him—he was that good looking! His hair was about the same color as mine, his eyes were large and blue (like mine!), and he had a beautiful nose and a very sweet mouth and fine teeth. I could not stop smiling at him and wondered if he might think my teeth were too small or too much of my gums were showing.

  After the formal greetings were complete, I returned to my apartments and sent word to our guests that I would receive them in my sitting room at four o’clock. Then I looked for ways to amuse myself, anything to occupy my mind until the appointed hour. I played the piano and practiced some of the singing exercises that Signor Lablache had assigned. I leafed through my sketchbook and examined some of the drawings I had made of my favorite singers. I stared out the window at the rain-swept garden. I checked the time.

  “Is my hair all right?” I asked Daisy, who was hovering nearby.

  “You look lovely, Victoria,” she replied calmly. “Very lovely indeed.”

  Soon the three of them, father and sons, arrived. We sat side by side like birds on a fence, leafing through my collection of drawings and speaking of them in a most educated way. It was obvious that these cousins were much more men of the world than any of my other cousins. Ernest and Albert spoke English very well, and I continually stole glances at Albert, seated next to me. The charm of his countenance was his delightful expression, full of goodness and very clever and intelligent. Oh, I would enjoy this visit VERY much!

  The next few days passed TOO quickly. My cousins and I went on walks together—Albert was particularly fond of the natural world—with Daisy and Lady Flora trailing along behind us. Albert and Ernest were both excessively fond of music and took turns playing the piano. They both drew very well, particularly Albert. At dinner I sat between them, and there was seldom a pause in the conversation except when I was chewing and chewing and chewing, as per doctor’s orders, which I confess I did not always follow. The more I saw these two brothers, the more I was charmed by them, and the more I loved them.

  But one thing I discovered about Albert that I considered very strange: He retired every night at an excessively early hour, as though he were scarcely out of the nursery. Mamma had prepared a vast number of entertainments that seemed to tire Albert before the evening had scarcely begun. When concerts went on until one or two in the morning, which was certainly not unusual, he looked truly miserable. On the night before my birthday, Mamma gave a grand dinner party at Kensington. Albert approached me as I was talking to an important gentleman, Lord Melbourne, the prime minister, and sai
d in a trembling voice, “Your highness, I beg your kind indulgence, but I must excuse myself.”

  He did not explain why, as that would not have been required or even proper. I learned later that he was simply fatigued and had gone to bed. It was only half past nine!

  The next night my birthday ball was held at St. James’s. Everyone was there—and by “everyone” I mean three thousand people. The dancing began. But after dancing only two quadrilles, Albert turned as white as ashes, looking as though he might faint.

  Albert left the ball with his valet and was taken back to Kensington by carriage. Two days later he suffered a bilious attack that kept him a prisoner in his room. Soon he recovered and was out among us again, but he appeared pale and delicate. I did wonder at his apparent lack of vigor.

  The week after my birthday Mamma gave another large ball, this one at Kensington, and Albert and I danced together for the first time. He was quite graceful, and he seemed to enjoy some of the more spirited dances. But when I led off an English country dance at the conclusion of the ball at nearly four o’clock in the morning, Prince Albert was nowhere to be seen.

  The last week of my cousins’ visit was perhaps the best. On two of our outings we attended the opera and took lunch with the Lord Mayor of London. Most rewarding, in my opinion, was this: Albert and I were playing the piano and singing duets when Signor Lablache arrived for my lesson. He entered my apartments swirling a cape, his comical eyebrows executing a little dance. He had scarcely been presented to dear Albert when he burst out singing Non più andrai,” Figaro’s aria from the second act of The Marriage of Figaro. Signor Lablache did that to tease me, for he knew I was not fond of Mozart’s operas, and he considered the Austrian composer to be the greatest.

  Albert appeared to agree with my singing teacher. “Signor, it has been my greatest pleasure to hear you in the role of Leporello!” he said, referring to Lablache’s best-known role. Then Albert actually sang a bit of Leporello’s famous aria, a long, humorous description of all the women that Don Giovanni had loved. So delightful!