I also received, which annoyed me very much, a letter from Uncle Leopold, supporting Albert’s claim and attempting to make me take a ‘correct view’ of my duties as a wife so that Albert and I could live peacefully together. How peaceful would it be, I demanded hotly of myself, if it was not made clear from the beginning that I was the Queen, and that where my authority ran it was not to be questioned? I wrote back to Albert, ‘Dear Uncle is given to believe that he must rule the roast wherever he is, but that is not the case. I am distressed to tell you what I fear you do not like, but it is necessary, my dearest, most excellent Albert. I do it only as I know it is for your own good. I shall choose your people, and once more I tell you that you can perfectly rely on me in these matters.’
Albert yielded at last, but the near-quarrel left me feeling very low. ‘This marrying,’ I said to Lord M., ‘is a very hazardous experiment. What a dreadful thing it would be if the Prince tried to oppose my will in everything.’
‘It is only nervousness – very natural,’ he said. ‘Everyone feels it before their marriage. And you have had much to vex you.’
(I should mention here that Albert took to George Anson instantly, as I knew he would. They became the most thorough friends and Anson remained his secretary until his tragically early death. Albert trusted him completely, and loved him like a brother, and his early reluctance to accept him became quite a joke between them. I am never wrong about people, as Albert came to learn, though he didn’t like to admit it at first!)
I was so worn out with worries that just a week before the wedding day I went down under an atrocious cold. Clark frightened the wits out of everyone by diagnosing it as the measles, but the truth soon became apparent, and I spent two days in bed feeling very sorry for myself, and that seemed to do the trick. I rose for dinner on the second day feeling almost myself, and very much more cheerful. Wedding gifts were arriving: a pair of diamond bracelets, a pearl and turquoise set from Aunt Adelaide, a new dog – a Scotch terrier called Laddie – and from Albert a superb brooch, an immense sapphire set round with diamonds.
On Friday the 7th of February I was further cheered by the arrival of Eos with Albert’s valet, ahead of the main party. Lehzen departed for Windsor to see that all was in readiness for our honeymoon, which was to be only three days. (Albert had hoped we might retire from the world for a fortnight, but I told him, proudly, that business, for a Sovereign, stopped for nothing and no-one, and a few days was all that could possibly be spared from affairs of State. What a little fool I was!)
I was now in a state of acute nervousness, which was hardly relieved by a letter from Albert saying that he had arrived safely at Dover. He had suffered most dreadfully during an appalling crossing, and told me his face was still the colour of a wax candle, but that he had been greatly heartened by the warmth of his welcome. Despite the wind and driving rain, thousands had been waiting on the quayside to cheer, which made him feel the nation was not so hostile to him after all.
That evening, Lord M. and I shared what was to be our last tête-à-tête, the sort of ‘comfortable coze’ I had almost forgotten about in the recent hectic months. Dash and Laddie were curled up between us by the fire, while Islay sat at Lord M.’s feet, gazing up at him unwaveringly. (It was an odd thing about Islay, that like a jackdaw he liked to play with bright, glittering objects. Once Lord M. had let him play with his glasses, and ever since Islay would sit in front of him all evening if need be until the desired object appeared.) In the pleasant, rambling way I remembered from before, we talked about my feelings, and marriage, and what sort of societies Albert ought to agree to address (‘Nothing to do with bridges and engineering; people who are interested in engineering always turn out to be Radicals!’) and whether it was possible to have too many dogs, and whether costume balls encouraged immorality (‘Ballrooms are like churches: I frequently come out worse than I went in,’) and the value of employing Dissenters as gardeners. (‘They are so very reliable: they don’t go to the races, they don’t hunt, they don’t engage in any expensive amusements.’)
He made me laugh very much by telling me about the new full dress coat he had had made for my wedding. ‘In point of work and trouble it was like building a seventy-four-gun ship. My tailor had to employ a clerk from the ordnance office to take charge of the quantity of buttons,’ he said with his drollest look. ‘I firmly expect it to be the thing most observed about the ceremony. I shall quite put Your Majesty into the shade. Pray do not expect anyone to be looking at you in the Chapel Royal.’
And thus, with laughter subsiding into smiles, back to my marriage. ‘You are doing the right thing. Depend upon it, it is right and natural to marry,’ he said comfortably. ‘And I know enough of the Prince’s character to know he is decent, honourable and conscientious. You could not have chosen better.’
‘You do not think we are too alike, too stubborn? After the difficulty over choosing his Household, I worry that we may both want our own way, and quarrel dreadfully.’
‘There will be squalls, of course, but you will weather them. It is impossible to predict the future, to guess what effect new situations, interests, passions may have on young and plastic natures, but I feel much assured of a good and happy result. And I believe you will find the means of doing that which is not altogether easy – of reconciling the authority of a sovereign with the duty of a wife.’
I was much comforted by that. ‘I have learned so much from you,’ I said gratefully. ‘If I have learned any patience and tact, it has been from you.’
His eyes filled with tears at that, and he took and pressed my hand tenderly. ‘All will be well,’ he said.
The next day, at half past four, the light was fading and the cold greyness of a February dusk was drawing the comfort and the colour out of the day. Behind the wintry trees the last of the sun showed a blurred, smoky red, and the upper branches were filled with huddled starlings, roosting together against the chill of darkness. For the last hour I had been running, most un-Queen-like, from window to window, to catch the first possible sight of Albert’s carriage; but as soon as I saw it pull into the yard, I was seized with the irrational fear that something would have changed, that he would love me less, or that I would discover I had mistaken my heart. The differences we had had by letter had frightened me: I was so young, and so new to love, that I could not conceive one might disagree about things and still be wholehearted about each other. I almost wished the carriage would turn and go away. What was I doing, pledging myself to marry this stranger, a foreigner from a distant land about whom I knew so little?
Mamma and the Household were assembled at the top of the stairs, but as the doors were flung open I could not bear to wait any longer; I must get it over with. I left them and ran down to the door, and reached it just as he did. We stopped face to face, and my heart seemed to come to a halt. He was pale, like an alabaster statue, gleaming strangely in the wintry dusk, his eyes shadowed, swaying a little on his feet, still half sick from the frightful journey. My lips parted to speak a welcome, but I had no words. The first glance at his dear, dear face had banished all my fears and agitation. He was his own, beautiful self, so familiar, seeming already something that I knew better than myself; something that belonged to my life – not owned, or possessed, but like a lovely wild animal who chooses of its very freedom to come to your hand and rest beside you. I knew then that I had made no mistake, that I loved him truly; as Lord M. said, that all would be well. In a silence as profound and as speaking as my own, he smiled at me; and I took his hand and led him into my house.
Nine
9th May 1900, at Windsor
GEORGIE AND May and the children will be arriving this day next week, in the evening, for the Christening of their new baby, which they are calling Henry. Arthur and Louischen are coming too, with Young Arthur and Margaret and Patsy – how I long to see them again! When Louischen went to join Arthur in India, she left them with me, and I did so love having them around me. Margaret was always a ‘h
andful’, but it was hard to be stern with her because she was so funny. She’s quite a young lady now, of course, and a credit to us all. Louischen has proved such a good mother, which when you consider what a brute her father was is quite an achievement.
I do like a Christening – almost more than a wedding, because with a wedding there is always someone going away, and I dislike very much for people to leave. My own wedding was different, of course, because Albert was coming to me. I remember it so well, every detail – better, indeed, than some things that happened only last week.
Monday the 10th of February 1840 was my wedding day. I was to be married at one o’clock in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace, and when I woke at about half past eight I thought with satisfaction, ‘That is the last night I shall ever sleep alone.’ I wondered what it would be like to share a bed with a man. Then I wondered if Albert was awake yet, and realised that I would never have to wonder that again, for I would know! It seemed strange, but delightful. Mamma and Lord M. had both tried to persuade me not to let him sleep under my roof the night before our wedding. ‘It is against tradition,’ Lord M. said, and ‘It will bring bad luck,’ said Mamma. I waved their objections away. ‘Narrow-minded nonsense,’ I told Lord M.; and to Mamma I said, ‘I am not afraid. I will show you how lucky our marriage will be!’
I stretched a little under the covers, feeling well, and strong, and rested. My cold seemed to have disappeared with my anxieties; I had no fears for the day. Last evening Albert and I sat down and read through the Marriage Service together, so that we should be familiar with it, and had tried how to manage the ring. He had seemed a little subdued, but assured me it was only the remains of his sea-sickness. He did seem very tired, which was only natural after such a journey; but he had been as kind and sweet as I could have wished, and kissed me very often and very tenderly.
I was thinking about those kisses when Lehzen came in to draw my curtains. ‘What a smile!’ she said. ‘You are greeting the day as you should, Majesty.’
I sat up. ‘What kind of a day? Tell me the worst, Daisy dear.’
‘As bad as can be,’ she said, looking out. ‘Wild, wet and windy.’ Even as she spoke, a gust hurled a hatful of water at my window-panes and rattled them like an impatient hand at a gate. Well, it was February after all! Lehzen tutted, but I only laughed. ‘It can storm all it likes today, it cannot spoil my happiness!’
The maid came in with my hot water and towels, but I sent Lehzen first for pen and paper, and still sitting up in bed with my hair about my shoulders I wrote: ‘Dearest, how are you today, and have you slept well? I have rested very well and feel very comfortable. What weather! I believe, however, the rain will cease. Send me one word when you, my most dearly beloved bridegroom, will be ready. Thy ever-faithful, Victoria R.’
It was despatched, and I got up and washed, had my breakfast (a large one, as it was to last me until two or three o’clock!) and was dressed. My wedding gown was beautiful, white figured satin, cut low across the shoulders as was the fashion then, with tiny puffed sleeves. It had a deep flounce of Honiton lace of an antique pattern – though it was not old lace. I had bought it the year before (before I had had any idea of marrying, in fact) to help the unemployed lace-makers of Devonshire; a whole length of it, enough to trim the dress lavishly, and to form my veil. I put on my Turkish diamond necklace and earrings and Albert’s beautiful sapphire brooch, and then dear Lehzen came back in to dress my hair, and gave me a dear little ring as a keepsake of her own. My hair was coiled behind and on it I wore a wreath of orange-blossoms and the lace veil. Lehzen kept talking as she worked, more I think to stop herself crying than to comfort me, for I was in a dream of bliss. ‘There are bigger crowds out there even than for your Coronation, despite the weather; they say the biggest crowds since the Allied Sovereigns visited London in 1814 – though who could be sure, and how they could be sure, I do not know,’ she added in her logical way. ‘The trees down Constitution Hill are all full of boys hoping for a view, and every now and then the branches snap and down they come tumbling, like hard little June apples on the heads of the unfortunates below! No-one seems to mind, though. Everyone is very good-tempered, in spite of the rain …’
When I was dressed, she turned me round to look in the long glass, and I seemed, even to myself, transformed, my cheeks and eyes so bright with happiness that I was almost beautiful. I want him to see me like this, I thought – here and alone, before it all belongs to the world at large.
I told Lehzen to send for him; and he came to me alone, looking slim and tall in glorious scarlet, the uniform of a British Field Marshal, with the white, tight net pantaloons that outlined every muscle of his thighs, white silk stockings and flat buckled slippers. He had not yet put on his sash and sword, of course, nor the diamond Garter Star and jewelled Garter I had given him the day before; and his hair had not yet been pomaded – it looked soft as a brown mouse’s fur. I longed to touch it, but instead I spread my arms sideways, displaying myself like a little girl, and said, ‘I wanted you to see.’
He was pale, and his eyes seemed to flinch as they touched me, as though he tried to look at a light that was too bright. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said in a faint voice, and for once I did not deny it.
‘For you,’ I said. ‘Only for you.’
He nodded, seeming to have nothing to say.
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Not very well.’
‘But you are happy?’
He smiled suddenly, and it was like sunshine enhancing all the colours of a garden. His eyes seemed bluer, his hair more golden, his cheeks not pale but delicately pink. ‘Oh yes! I can’t tell you how much! But I had better go now – you see I am not quite ready. And you will want to compose yourself beforehand. Are you nervous?’
‘Not at all.’
He smiled at that. ‘But you are trembling. I can see your pretty blossoms trembling.’ And indeed I was, though I think it was not with nervousness.
He was to leave the Palace at midday; I set out at half past twelve in the carriage with Mamma and the Duchess of Sutherland (Mistress of the Robes). It was still raining in torrents, with horrid gusts of wind that drove it in the horses’ faces and made them flinch, but the wintry weather did not seem to damp the enthusiasm of the crowds, who cheered me down the Mall, and waved their sodden hats above their dripping heads. Lord M. met me at the door of St James’s Palace, again carrying the Sword of State, with which he would precede me down the aisle. He was wearing his splendid new dress-suit, whose buttons gleamed like lamps on a dark night, and we exchanged a smile of pleasant recollection of our shared joke over it. I was to be given away by Uncle Sussex, and he smiled at me unexpectedly kindly and even patted my hand as it rested on his arm, though even for this special day he had not been persuaded to remove his comfortable black skull-cap.
My twelve bridesmaids were waiting in the dressing-room, looking beautiful and innocent in white satin and gauze, the overskirt caught up in front with white roses, white roses at the bosom, and clusters of white roses in their hair. Our procession formed up in the Throne Room, the doors were flung open, the trumpets sounded, and the organ began to play, and we walked forward into the Chapel. The room was packed full, and every eye turned to me. I saw members of my family crowded together at the front: red-faced Uncle Cambridge nodding like a parrot and talking to himself; Mamma, a drift of scarves and feathers, already snuffling into a handkerchief; kind Aunt Adelaide in purple velvet beaming and fluttering her fingers as though she would dearly love to wave to me; various cousins craning their necks and trying to elbow each other out of the way. Amongst the non-royal guests I saw the Duke, gaunt and as upright as ever, which always made one forget that he was not a tall man; kindly Lord Liverpool, who had befriended my childhood; and Lord Ashley, who had married Lord M.’s niece Minney Cowper – these the only three Tories I had invited (for which I remain unrepentant, in spite of criticism. It was a private wedding after all; the Coronation had been
another matter.).
And then I had eyes for no-one but my bridegroom, waiting for me in that place where we were to be joined together for ever. He had turned to look at me, and the diamonds of the Star on his breast were not brighter than his brilliant eyes. The service was beautiful, and imposing in its simplicity. There had not been a wedding of a Queen Regnant for three hundred years, and Mary Tudor’s had been by the Catholic rite anyway, and provided no precedent. So it had been decided to follow the ceremonial used by my grandfather and grandmother, George III and Queen Charlotte. But despite my exalted rank, the central part of the ceremony was simplicity itself: the Archbishop asked me quietly and in the plainest language, ‘Victoria, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?’ and I felt that I stood as humble and naked before God as the least of my subjects. I could not believe it possible for anyone to do other than keep the promises they made in such a way and in such a place. Albert spoke so clearly and beautifully, and put on the ring with such gentleness and yet such a wonderful air of triumph that I felt I had been claimed indeed before God and in front of all the world.
But it was not all solemnity: when he spoke the words about endowing me with all his worldly goods, we both remembered the story of how Princess Charlotte had burst out laughing at that moment of her wedding to penniless Uncle Leopold, and we both smiled.
Then we went to sign the register (the Duke of Norfolk made such a bustle, insisting that he must sign first, as Earl Marshal of England, and then keeping everyone waiting because he could not find his spectacles) and then we walked back down the aisle to tremendous fanfares and more music, in the same order as before – except that now my hand rested not on the broadcloth sleeve of Uncle Sussex, but, trembling like a bird, on the arm of my husband. There were smiles and kisses and congratulations from those closest to us, and then alone together we went out to the waiting carriage, and like a miracle the rain stopped and a watery sunshine reflected from a million puddles and ten million suspended raindrops. Such a shout went up as we appeared! We were cheered wildly all the way home: royal weddings had always before taken place at night, so it was a new thing for the people to be able to see a Queen in her wedding gown; but there were cheers for Albert, too, and he waved on his side of the carriage as I did on mine, and I think found it an agreeable experience.
I, Victoria Page 22
