Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria
Page 12
“I know. It was three months after I was born.”
“Yes. You are almost of an age. He was a particularly beautiful child from the moment he was born. Some babies are very ugly… and they grow prettier every day. That was not so with Albert. He was born beautiful…His father was at that time the Duke, his father having died. Luise loved her child—even more, they said, than she had loved her first-born, Ernest. He was like an angel, she said, with his blue eyes, well-shaped nose, and dimples. He was only about three years old when the trouble, which had been brewing for some time, burst out into an open scandal.”
“What scandal?”
“Luise, left alone by her husband, had made certain friendships; one was with a certain Leutnant von Hanstein. She had a great enemy at her husband's Court in Maximilian von Szymborski who was determined to destroy her. This he succeeded in doing by fomenting scandals and rumors and blowing them up out of all proportion to reality; and in time the Duke was so convinced that his wife was unfaithful that he decided to divorce her.”
“Divorce!” I cried. “How terrible! Oh, poor little Albert and Ernest.”
“Yes. The children loved their mother dearly but she was taken from them. There was great sorrow in the household. But the people loved Luise. They thought she had been wronged and they called for von Szymborski's blood. He had great difficulty in getting out of the country alive. But there was a divorce. Albert was seven years old at the time. Luise married von Hanstein, but when she was only thirty years old she died.”
“What a sad story! What happened to Albert and Ernest?”
“They were left to the care of their grandmothers … and Uncle Leopold. They were greatly loved but they must have missed their mother.”
“I am sure they did. She seemed so gentle and so falsely accused. I long more than ever to meet my Saxe-Coburg cousins.”
“The Duke was married again to Mary of Württemberg, but I don't think that was a very happy marriage either.”
“He should not have been led astray by that wicked von Szymborski. How strange it is. Albert had no mother and I had no father. It seems as though there is a special bond between us…”
I rode on thoughtfully. I could not keep Cousin Albert out of my mind.
It was too much to expect life to go on smoothly with Mama and the King under one roof. Every day when I rose I used to pray that nothing would go wrong, that Mama would continue in the more mellow mood, which Feodore's presence seemed to have brought about. Now, I thought, she is acting more like a mother than a would-be regent.
The King arranged that we should go to the races, and what fun it was to be in the royal box and watch the dear horses vying with each other. I jumped up in joy and urged them on until Mama laid a restraining hand on my shoulders, and I saw the King was amused and rather liked it that I seemed to forget my dignity for a moment.
Aunt Adelaide was smiling. She said, “We must do this again.”
But trouble came as I feared it would.
It was one evening before dinner. Mama seemed suddenly to remember how important she was and to fear that the relaxation of the last few days may have given the impression that she was ready to be relegated to obscurity.
We were waiting to go in to dinner. The King was getting impatient, no doubt wondering why the Queen did not give the sign for us to leave for the dining room.
Aunt Adelaide was nervously trying to continue talking so that people did not notice the time. But the King suddenly shouted, “Are we waiting for that woman?”
Everyone knew who “that woman” was, and I felt myself growing very hot.
“She is a nuisance,” went on the King. “We will go in without her.”
Then Mama appeared, looking quite splendid in bows and feathers and swinging jewelry. I was beginning to think that she was often a little overdressed.
Aunt Adelaide said smoothly as though nothing had happened, “Shall we go in to dinner now?”
She was the most tactful woman I had ever known. She hated scenes and with a husband like Uncle William she had plenty of practice in avoiding them.
We went in and I sat between the King and the Queen, and although he was pleasant enough to me, I kept intercepting the glares he sent in my mother's direction.
It was a small incident really but it did spoil the complete perfection of Feodore's visit.
Alas, it was time for Feodore to go. We parted in tears. She said she would come again and I must go to her. It was doubly hard to have to part from the dear little children. That was the worst of these visits from relatives. When they were over, one was so very sad.
Writing in my journal solaced me a little, and this time I could set down exactly what I felt.
“How sad at breakfast not to see the door open and Feodore come in smiling leading her little girl; and not to get the accustomed kiss from her. At one we lunched and I missed dear Feodore here again terribly. I miss her so much today. At three we drove with Lehzen. How dull the drive seemed without dear Feodore. We dined at seven and after that Aunt Sophia came. We passed a dull, sad evening…”
How sad that those who loved each other so dearly must be apart.
* * *
MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY was approaching. I was very conscious of the fact that in two years I should be eighteen. I mentioned it in Mama's hearing and she looked very startled. She did not want me to grow up and was constantly telling me that I must be less selfish, less conceited; I always wanted my own way and could be stubborn about getting it. I knew now what she meant. She wanted Uncle William dead now so that she could be Regent.
I wrote in my journal: “Today is my sixteenth birthday. How very old that sounds! But I feel that the two years to come till I attain my eighteenth are the most important of any.”
And of course Mama read my journal.
She invited some of my favorite artists to the Palace to give a concert for my birthday, dear, beautiful, talented Grisi among them. It was a most wonderful birthday present, and I felt the old affection for Mama welling up in me because she had taken such trouble to please me.
Then I saw the complacent looks Sir John Conroy exchanged with her, and the thought entered my mind that since I was getting older they were trying to placate me a little.
However the concert was wonderful and I could not have had a birthday present I liked better.
After the birthday, Mama, who had been complaining about the lack of space that was allowed to us in the Palace, decided that as there were plenty of rooms available she would appropriate more to our use.
She selected seventeen. They were very grand.
“And why not?” she said to Sir John. “They are to accommodate the heiress to the throne. I suppose we shall have to ask that old buffer's permission.”
They laughed, but later they were very annoyed because the King refused his permission for them to have the rooms.
“Well Lehzen,” I said, “we did really have quite enough, and there are so many of the family to live here.”
Lehzen said nothing but I believed she agreed with me.
My confirmation took place in the Chapel Royal at St. James's and many members of the family were present. I wore a white lace dress and a bonnet trimmed with roses; and as usual I was in an agony of suspense as to what Mama would do to offend the King. She had talked very seriously to me beforehand about being good and friendly to those about me, but not too friendly, and to curb that rather common habit of smiling on everyone and gushing—yes, positively gushing—over those for whom I believed I had some affection.
“Mama,” I said, “I always know when I have affection for someone, which is rather different from believing it.”
She ignored that and went on to say that she had cared for me since my birth (which was true enough) and she was the only one I could trust and if I obeyed her in everything, I could not stray from the right path. I was a little unappreciative of Sir John Conroy, which grieved her. I must show more friendliness toward him.
There was trouble from the start. The King said my mother's retinue was far too large and some of them would have to go. He incensed her by ordering Sir John to leave the chapel.
I was very upset, but the King took my hand and pressed it kindly, which implied that he was not in the least angry with me. Of course my mother was beside me and I stood between her and the King at the rail of the altar.
I had to remove my bonnet, which Mama took; and after the confirmation ceremony the Archbishop began to lecture me about the stern duties that lay ahead. It seemed to me that I was going to have a very miserable time and if that was what it meant to be a queen I would rather remain as I was. I could not imagine why people were so eager to get the crown. According to the Archbishop it brought nothing but strict duty and overpowering responsibilities.
While he was talking, the King at my side started shifting his feet impatiently; and I guessed that he was on the point of commanding the Archbishop to put an end to his homily. Fortunately the Archbishop understood what the King meant and brought his lecture to an end.
When we retired to the closet the King said, “Well, that's done.” Then he leaned toward me and said, “Don't want to take too much notice of all that stuff. Priests!” He shook his head in disdain. “I've got a present for you. You're a nice girl and you want to enjoy life.”
I said, “Oh, Uncle William, you are a kind man.”
His present to me was a set of emerald jewelry and the Queen gave me a tiara of emeralds to match. I thanked them warmly and Aunt Adelaide embraced me.
“It was all very serious, wasn't it?” she said. “You must not be upset by it. Things usually work out very well, and I am sure they will for you.”
Dear Aunt Adelaide and kind Uncle William! I did wish more than ever that we could be friendly with them and that I did not have to hide my affection for them from Mama.
On the way home Mama said I had been a little forward with the King and Queen. It was only right that they should give me valuable jewelry. After all the jewelry belonged to the crown … and that would soon be mine.
She brightened a little because she said he—meaning the King—had looked strained and he seemed to have some difficulty in walking.
I said, “I don't want to think of his death. I don't want to be Queen.”
Mama laughed. “You shouldn't let the Archbishop's sermon upset you. I daresay he thought you were young and a little frivolous—which indeed you are—and needed a warning. You should thank God that you have a mother to look after you and guide you—a mother who has always made you the center of her life.”
“Yes, Mama,” I replied, supposing that was true; but how I wished that she had made something else the center of her life and left me a little more on the edge.
When we returned she gave me a bracelet containing a lock of her hair.
“Something to remind you of me… always,” she said.
* * *
GREAT JOY AWAITED me. There was a letter from Uncle Leopold who was very soon setting out for England with his wife. His great delight in coming to England would be to see his dearest child.
My excitement was so great that Lehzen feared I would be ill. Mama had arranged that we should go to Ramsgate and Uncle Leopold could stay with us there. It was an ideal way of keeping clear of those nuisances at Windsor who, she was sure, would try to interfere if we stayed at Kensington.
So to Ramsgate we went.
There was more wonderful news. Feodore had given birth to another child—a little girl—and they were both doing well.
“We have pondered over names,” wrote Feodore, “and we have decided that this little girl must be named after her dearest aunt. So Victoria is to be her name; but because I could not have two Victorias so close to me—I should be muddled and wonder which one was which— she will be Adelaide first and Victoria second. I thought the Queen would be pleased. She was so good to us when we were at Windsor. So the baby is to be Adelaide, Victoria, Mary, Louisa, Constance.”
I laughed with Lehzen. “How strange to think of this little one… my niece. And Charles has a child too. He could do as he wished. You see he did marry Marie Klebelsberg and is happy with her. Poor Feodore, who wanted Augustus… although she does seem happy now so perhaps it was all for the best. But I think dear Feodore would make herself happy doing what people want her to rather than what she wants herself. I don't think I should ever be like that.”
“You have a will of your own,” said Lehzen, with a grudging sort of admiration.
I made presents for the little newcomer, but my thoughts were really with the coming of Uncle Leopold and my new aunt whom I was longing to see.
I hoped all would be well in Ramsgate and there would be nothing to irritate Mama. She loved Uncle Leopold and she knew that his aspirations regarding me were the same as her own, so there should be no reason for conflict. However, she was rather disgruntled because she could not fly the royal standard over the house we took in Ramsgate; and of course there were no more “poppings” as Uncle William called the royal salute—and that gave her cause for complaint.
It was decided that we should go to the Albion Hotel to await the arrival of the ship which would bring Uncle Leopold to us, as we should be able to watch it come in from there; and as we rode from our house to the hotel I was gratified to see how the people of Ramsgate had decorated the streets; and as we passed through they called out: “Long live the little Princess!” or “Welcome Victoria!” Mama sat in the carriage waving regally, but they had only silence for her, and went on shouting my name as though to make it clear that the cheers were not for her.
Lehzen and Lady Conroy with Flora Hastings came with us. Lady Conroy might not have been there she was so insignificant; and as Flora Hastings and Lehzen disliked each other, I rather wished Mama had brought someone other than Flora.
However what did it matter? The ship bringing Uncle Leopold was coming nearer.
And there he was, looking slightly older than when I last saw him, for it was four years and two months.
He was coming toward me and I flew into his arms. Mama smiled, not at all displeased. Uncle Leopold was delighted and so were the crowds. They liked exuberant displays of affection.
Uncle Leopold took my face in his hands and said how I had grown and this was one of the happiest moments of his life.
I told him how wonderful it was for me to be with this dearest of uncles.
He presented his bride and I was so happy because I liked her immediately. She was slim and pretty with lovely fair hair and blue eyes. Her bonnet was blue to match them; and she looked so elegant in her light brown silk dress.
“Oh, you are just as Uncle said you were!” I cried.
“You must love each other,” commanded Uncle Leopold, “because that is what I wish.”
“I shall, I shall,” I said in what Mama would call my impetuous way. “I do already.”
And I did, for I knew at once that we were going to be friends.
Uncle Leopold contrived that he and I should have some long talks together, just the two of us. He talked to me as seriously as the Archbishop had, but how different it was coming from Uncle Leopold! He made me very much aware of the responsibilities I should have to face in the future, but reminded me again and again that he would always be there and all I had to do was write to him. He would be my guide and comforter, as he had always been. I was growing up fast, I was no longer a child. There would be many things I had to consider. He had heard rumors which deeply disturbed him. The King had ideas for me to marry my cousin George Cambridge. He did not think that a very good idea. Some of my relatives on my father's side were a very odd group. Quite unlike those on my mother's who were serious, right-minded, and goodliving.
I told him I thought both Georges were very good boys, and George Cumberland was quite
unlike his father and mother. In fact he was very charming indeed and it was so sad that he was going blind.
“There can be no cure for him,” I said. “It is a great grief to his parents, and although I know they are not good people, they do love him.”
“My dearest child,” said Uncle Leopold, “you are apt to allow your emotions to take charge, you know. Of course you are very sorry for George Cumberland. It is indeed a great affliction. It may in a measure be retribution for the sins of his father. There have been the most unpleasant rumors about that gentleman.”
“To make George blind because of his father's wickedness! Oh, I think that is most unfair.”
“Dearest child, it is not for us to question the ways of God. But enough of these cousins. They may be pleasant boys but they cannot compare with your German cousins. What did you think of Ernest and Alexander?”
“They were delightful.”
“Far more interesting than your Cumberlands and Cambridges, I'll swear.”
“Well, they were different… and most amusing.”
“You thought them delightful, I know, but you have not yet met your Saxe-Coburg cousins.”
“You mean Ernest and Albert.”
“The most delightful boys I ever knew in my life.”
“I have heard of them.”
“If you liked your cousins Alexander and Ernest…”
“Oh, I did, Uncle. I did.”
“How much more will you be enchanted by these two.”
“When am I going to meet them?”
“Soon, my dearest, very soon.”
“I long to see them … particularly Albert.”
“Well, Albert is indeed a wonderful boy. I look upon him as my own. He is as close to me as you are, my dearest. If I may be a little indiscreet …”