by Jean Plaidy
I stared at him. I knew there had been troubles, but Lord Melbourne had always made light of them. The Duchess of Sutherland was always trying to interest me in what Lord Melbourne called “causes.” “They give the idle something to do and feel good about,” he had said. I had been interested in Lord Shaftesbury, who had made great efforts to improve conditions in the mines and had brought to light the terrible fate of chimney sweeps. But when I had talked to Lord Melbourne about this he had said that Shaftesbury had been quite cruel to his own children and that charity should begin at home. Lord Melbourne had mentioned these matters lightly, and then he had been quite amusing about some aspects, and I had not thought very seriously about them.
Now it seemed different. It was brought home to me. I remembered the poor man to whom I had given the money I had saved for the big doll. I just hated to see beggars in the streets and always wanted to give to them. I could not bear the thought of little boys going up chimneys and children in the mines.
That sobered me considerably and made me forget my anger about the refusal of the Tories to give Albert his £50,000.
“Yes,” I said slowly, “I do see that.”
I wondered what poor Albert was thinking because he would now know what was going on. I feared he might experience some humiliation, which was the last thing I wanted. I was sure he would understand about his allowance. He would be the first to realize the needs of the people.
He accepted these insults stoically and wrote to me about his household. It was at this time that I began to realize what strict moral standards Albert had. I believe, in his heart, he did not approve of Lord Melbourne who had been cited twice as the lover of married women and had a stormy marriage. He would have heard about the Byron scandal; and like so many very good people who could not bear a breath of scandal, felt that all those concerned in such cases were tainted, even though they might be innocent parties. I did not feel like that; but then I was not so very good.
Albert thought that his household could be composed of both Whigs and Tories. He thought it was wrong to have one party predominant. This was a faint criticism of my household, which was entirely Whig. He always wanted members of his household to be completely moral.
When I put this before Lord Melbourne, he smiled wryly but was very firm.
“There could not be two households made up of different political leanings,” he said. “Your Majesty has seen the disaster brought about by this sort of thing under your own roof—yours and your mother's.”
I agreed with that.
“Well then,” he said, “there should be one household, and I do not think Your Majesty would wish to people that with Tories.”
“I would not endure them in my household.”
“You are the Queen. It is your decision. The Prince should have his own private secretary but he and I can share one for the time being. George Anson is a very worthy fellow.”
“It is good of you to offer to share him with the Prince. I will write to Albert at once.”
Albert's reaction was immediate. He did not think it was a good idea for him to share the Prime Minister's secretary. There was another matter. He believed that George Anson was up half the night dancing. That seemed to Albert a very frivolous occupation for the holder of such an important post.
I was resentful. I liked to stay up half the night dancing, and I had a responsible post. Sometimes I felt that Albert forgot I was the Queen of England. He would have to learn that I knew far more of my country than he possibly could; and it was no use talking about being fair to both political parties and allowing the hated Tories into the Palace. He did not know how odious they could be.
Uncle Leopold wrote. He was disgusted because Albert had not been given a peerage and because Parliament had seen fit to insult him by giving him only £30,000 a year when the custom had been to give £50,000 to consorts of reigning queens.
I was getting a little irritated, even with Albert. He did not understand. Uncle Leopold did not understand.
I wrote to Albert explaining to him that his suggestion about his gentlemen simply would not do. He must rely on me to see that gentlemen of the highest standing and good character would be appointed. I added that I had received a rather disgruntled letter from Uncle Leopold. He was annoyed because I did not take his advice. “Dear Uncle,” I wrote, “he is inclined to believe that he should be in command everywhere.”
I wanted to tell Albert—gently—that although I loved him dearly and respected him in every way, I was the Queen; and even he, dear, good, clever creature that he was, must not forget that.
I discovered that Albert, for all his outward gentleness, had a strong will. He was very disturbed regarding my comments about the household. He thought that he might get together certain noble, right thinking, moral, non-political German gentlemen who could accompany him to England. I would understand, he was sure, how lonely a man could feel in a strange land.
Lord Melbourne was horrified. “A household of Germans! Never! The people would not endure it. Better Tories than that. Your Majesty knows how people distrust foreigners.”
Lord Melbourne looked at me with his head on one side as though to remind me that he had always pointed out the difficulties of a foreign marriage. Perhaps he thought George Cambridge would have been more suitable—an English cousin rather than a German one. Moreover Lord Melbourne had always expressed a certain dislike of Germans.
I told him severely that nationality did not come into the matter. I was not marrying Albert because he was a German but because I loved him.
The situation was growing tense. If Albert had been with me I felt we could have talked over these matters and come to an understanding. It was so difficult in writing. Words on paper looked so definite…so irrevocable. And the posts took so long that if one wrote when one was heated, by the time the letter was received one's mood would have changed considerably.
How I longed to see him and thrash out these difficulties in person.
Albert blankly refused to share the Prime Minister's secretary, and Lord Melbourne said that he would give him up and he should serve Albert only. Albert grudgingly agreed to this, so that was one little hurdle over which we had come.
But there were more. This time between Albert and myself, which was more distressing because there was no one to blame.
I did try to console myself that it was because Albert was inexperienced of customs and manners in England. He had been brought up very strictly and of course he was naturally good. I doubted there had been many storms in his childhood. He would always have been very conscious of his duty, and I was sure he had never strayed from the path of virtue.
The trouble with good people is that they expect such a lot from others whose natures are not so inclined toward goodness.
The first was an upset over the honeymoon. I had had such a delightful letter from Albert telling me how much he was longing to come to England and was so looking forward to our honeymoon. This should be spent at Windsor—dear Windsor—where we had enjoyed such a happy time, and where I had asked him to marry me. The wedding ceremony would be tiring. Dear Albert was often tired. It was because he rose early in the mornings, but then he liked to retire early. I remembered how weary he looked after some of the balls and how he could not prevent himself from yawning. “So,” wrote Albert, “we shall go to Windsor for a whole week where we shall be by ourselves. I shall insist on that.”
Of course, I was delighted that he should want to be alone with me, but dear Albert, he did not understand. The Queen had many duties. Of course he could not realize what the governing of a country like mine involved. How could he? He was but the Prince of Saxe-Coburg—and not the ruling prince either. There was a great deal Albert did not understand, but he would learn, of course; and being Albert he would learn quickly. One of these things was that one did not insist to the Queen.
“You forget, dearest love,” I wrote, “that I am the Sovereign and state business can wait for nothing. Parliament
is sitting so I could not be away from London for more than a day or so.”
When I sent off that letter I worried a little. There had been so much conflict after that joyous period when we had declared our love for each other. I wished I could see him. I wanted to know how he was feeling about all these hitches. Letters could sound so chilling sometimes. Had I been arrogant? I could not help it. I had to remind him that it was the Queen whom he was to marry.
I sent him the list of the bridesmaids. I wanted him to agree on every aspect, even this one, so I was amazed when he sent his disapproval of my choice.
He instanced two bridesmaids who should be struck off the list. They were the daughters of Lady Radnor and Lady Jersey. The bridesmaids might be innocent young women, but their mothers had been involved in scandal, Albert pointed out. Lady Jersey had been notorious. Her ill fame had been known throughout Europe. Albert thought that none of our bridesmaids should be touched by scandal.
When I showed the letter to Lord Melbourne, he was amazed; then he began to laugh.
“What does the Prince wish us to do? Check the annals of the past? God help us! What should we find? And what of the bridegroom's antecedents? I ask. His father was a notorious libertine and do not forget that he divorced his wife—the sainted Albert's own mother—for immorality. This, Your Majesty, is going a little too far.”
Much as I loved Albert, I agreed with Lord Melbourne. Albert was being a little illogical on this occasion. If we put his ideas into practice, Lord Melbourne would not be my Prime Minister. And what of my father who had lived so long with Madame St. Laurent without benefit of clergy?
No, Albert was taking his goodness too far; and I must write and tell him that the list of bridesmaids could not be changed.
Lord Melbourne sometimes regarded me with a certain sadness. I knew what was in his mind. Our relationship would necessarily change after my marriage. It would be another who was my constant companion, embuing me with his ideas.
Was I easily led? Perhaps I was when I loved. And did I love too easily, too wholeheartedly? Perhaps there was that in me which looked for male domination. Uncle Leopold…Lord Melbourne…I had loved Uncle Leopold almost fanatically until Lord Melbourne appeared and showed me the flaws in him. And now Albert would be the man in my life.
But with none of these had I ever forgotten the all-important fact: I was the Queen.
IN SPITE OF these irritations the wedding day was fixed for the tenth of February.
We were dogged by ill luck. I had been quite unwell and it appeared that I might have the measles which, fortunately, turned out to be not the case. I did not want to be a spotted bride. Lord Melbourne had a cold which left him with a cough. Mama, of course, could not be expected to let us live in peace. She did not want to move after the wedding, and she was also involved in heated discussions over precedence. It was the old pattern.
Albert's valet had come on in advance with his greyhound Eos. I had had another little dog given to me—a lovely Scotch terrier, which I named Laddie. I was delighted to add him to my little family of dogs of which Dash would always be the favorite, although I loved them all. Lord Melbourne said I had too many dogs, for although they liked him, I fancy he did not like them very much.
I was getting many messages of good will and several presents too; and each morning when I awoke I reminded myself that I was one day nearer my wedding.
The Channel was particularly rough. “Poor Prince Albert will doubtless be getting a buffeting,” said Lord Melbourne with the faintest hint of satisfaction; but he added, “I am sure he will bear it with fortitude.”
Everything seemed to be in a state of confusion. I was so excited I could not sleep or eat. I had a terrible fear that something would go wrong.
Lehzen scolded me and said I must calm myself. Poor Lehzen, she was not quite herself. I think she resented anyone's coming into my life, and of course there could never be anyone as important as Albert.
Again and again I assured her that I should never change toward her; but I think she did not entirely believe me.
She went down to Windsor to make sure everything would be in order for our honeymoon—three days, not the week Albert had said he would insist on.
Mama had been difficult about Albert's and my staying under the same roof before the marriage. I protested. Where else could Albert stay? And did Mama expect him to be married on the day he arrived?
Mama insisted that it was “unseemly,” and to my dismay when I raised the point with Lord Melbourne, he said he thought it would be wiser if Albert stayed somewhere else.
My temper flared up. “It seems to me,” I said, “that everyone is trying to put as many obstacles in the way of my marriage as possible.”
Lord Melbourne patiently explained that he was really trying to remove difficulties and it was an English custom for prospective brides not to sleep under the same roof as their grooms before the marriage.
“Then I think it is the most ridiculous custom and Albert shall sleep at the Palace.”
“As you say, Ma'am,” said Lord Melbourne with an amused little smile. And since I had made my wishes clear, Mama had to agree.
So Albert came to Buckingham Palace. I was sure if there was anything wrong about it, Albert would be the first to know.
What a joy it was to see his dear face! Every silly little doubt I had ever had that this was the right thing to do, disappeared at once. He looked pale—the sea crossing had been atrocious. Albert was so unlucky with the sea. But nothing could mar his beauty and when I looked into his dear blue eyes, I knew how fortunate I was.
He came on a Saturday and the wedding was to take place on the following Monday. Those two days were very happy for me. We sang duets together, and we rehearsed the wedding ceremony; and the hours flew by.
I went to bed on that Sunday night too excited to sleep. It was the last night I should sleep alone. I remembered how much store I had set by that when I had been Mama's prisoner. That seemed years ago, but it was scarcely three.
At such times one is apt to go back in one's mind and think over the past… all the little incidents of childhood; the happy times, the stormy times. It is natural. It is the end of the old life.
When I awoke on that glorious morning of the tenth of February, I could hear the rain teeming down. How unfortunate! The sun should have been shining. There is a saying “Happy the bride whom the sun shines on.” Well, perhaps it would shine after all. In any case how could I fail to be happy with Albert?
The first thing I did was to write to him.
Dearest,
How are you today? And have you slept well? I have rested very well and feel very comfortable today. What weather! I believe, however, the rain will cease. Send one word when you, my dearly loved bridegroom, will be ready.
Thy ever faithful, Victoria R.
There were crowds gathering in the streets. The crimson carpet was being laid out for us to walk on to the carriage. Very soon the moment would come.
I heard the shouts as Albert set out accompanied by his father and brother. I could imagine how splendid he would look in the uniform of a British Field Marshal with the ribbon of Garter—which I had bestowed on him—across his breast. His father and brother would be in green uniforms—a contrast to the glory of Albert.
I heard the shouts and applause go up, and I was thrilled because they were for Albert. I had been afraid that people might have been ungracious to him; but, of course, as soon as they saw him they must admire him.
Then it was my turn.
Mama was to be in the carriage with me. I had been against it but I did realize that on such an occasion we must waive our differences and consider what would look right in the eyes of the people.
When they saw me cheers rang out. Flags were waving and I heard the sound of trumpets. I was aware of the crowds, some on the railings and on the surrounding trees, so determined were they to get a good view.
I felt immensely gratified. The ghost of Flora Hastings
had passed into oblivion—or almost—and the affair of the Bedchamber Ladies was forgotten. I was the Queen and this was my wedding day.
I heard gasps of admiration as I stepped out in my voluminous white satin gown trimmed with Honiton lace. I lightly touched the sapphire brooch—a present from Albert and therefore doubly valuable in my eyes. My diamond necklace sparkled about my neck and there was a wreath of orange blossom in my hair.
I sat beside Mama and we went through streets lined with people who shouted and cheered as we passed. I noticed that Mama was much less pushing than she used to be. I think she must have learned a few lessons over the past three years; moreover the odious Sir John was no longer there to guide her actions.
I was vividly reminded of my coronation when I had believed that to be a queen was the most wonderful achievement on Earth; and that if one were good, there would be no difficulties at all. What an innocent I had been! And still was, perhaps, to some extent. On solemn occasions like this, one could feel so young…so inexperienced.
I was not yet twenty-one years of age—but three months older than my dear bridegroom. There was so much I should have to teach him about England and the duties of a queen, for he had shown himself—for example when he had thought we could take a long honeymoon—that wise and good as he undoubtedly was, he did not fully understand the duties and responsibilities of being a queen of England.
It was very impressive in the Abbey and I was deeply moved by the ceremony, and I shall never forget the moment when Albert put the ring on my finger. That sealed our relationship. We should be together now for the rest of our lives. So we were married.
Albert and I clasped hands and looked at each other in wonderment. Everything is going to be perfect for ever more, I thought! How could it fail to be with this divine being.