Victoria Confesses (9781442422469)

by Meyer, Carolyn

  We sang Christmas carols, some in German, one or two in French, and several in English. Then Mamma led me to our bedroom, followed by all our ladies, everyone in a fine holiday mood. There I found my new toilet table, covered with pink and white muslin gathered in swags by pink ribbons. All my silver things—looking glass, comb, buttonhook, hair receiver, pin box—were arranged on it. I caught the look of pure envy on Victoire’s face. I had glimpsed that look before, but it had never been so naked. I turned away, feeling I had witnessed something embarrassing.

  “Oh, dearest Mamma!” I exclaimed. “How delightful! Thank you!” I embraced her as warmly as ever I had. I knew the toilet table was a recognition that I was growing up.

  In the past months my feelings toward my mother had become increasingly strained. It was impossible to have a discussion with her. I had tried many times, approaching her in the most loving and reasonable way I knew how.

  “Dearest Mamma, why must I still share a room with you? I should so like to have a room of my own,” I had said only weeks earlier.

  “Darling, it is beyond me that you should not want more than anything to sleep near the one who cares for you most deeply. And it’s for the best, believe me.”

  Another time: “Mamma, why must I, at the age of thirteen, hold someone’s hand when I go down a flight of stairs?”

  “My dear Vickelchen, if you were to slip on the marble, or to stumble and injure yourself, I could never forgive myself! This rule is only for your safety!”

  Rules, rules, rules. It was pointless to challenge them, for I never won a concession and often had to write yet another letter of apology.

  My body was becoming that of a woman, but she still insisted that I wear childish dresses. I was allowed to see almost no other girls my age but the dull Victoire, and to read only books suitable for an eight-year-old. I often felt that she did not love me for who I was but for what I represented. It seemed more important for Mamma to be the mother of the future queen of England than of an English girl named Victoria. I owed everything to Mamma, as she reminded me often, but I withdrew from her, preferring to spend my time with Daisy. Did Mamma notice that my bond with my former governess was more intense than my bond with her? I didn’t know. And I didn’t care, for it was true.

  There was one thing more that could not be dismissed: The memory of Mamma in Sir John’s embrace still sprang unbidden to my mind. Perhaps there had been nothing to it. It may have meant nothing at all. But it did not escape my notice that Sir John made all the decisions. He ruled my life and my mother’s too. I might forgive her that embrace, but I could not forgive her for allowing him to control us.

  Early in the New Year Sir John brought Mamma a gift: the most beautiful and adorable little King Charles spaniel. He had long, floppy black ears, a white muzzle, brown spots on a white body, and large brown eyes that gazed at me with great intelligence. His name was Dash. He was very playful, yet always obedient and lay devotedly at Mamma’s feet.

  Little Dash was perfection. I soon began to earn his affection, and Mamma did not object—she was more adoring of her many birds. I dressed Dash in the scarlet jacket and blue trousers that Daisy ordered for him as a surprise for me. He didn’t seem to mind being outfitted as a human and enjoyed the attention. It became clear that DEAR SWEET LITTLE DASH had declared himself to belong to me, and from then on he was with me constantly.

  I was delighted to have him by my side during the long, tiresome hours I spent with the artist commissioned by Mamma to paint a full-length portrait of me. I had often sat for portraits, sometimes with Mamma, but none had ever been as wearisome—and as detailed—as this. I was dressed in palest pink, my hair done up in an elaborate braid arranged like a crown on my head. I wore gloves—or rather, one glove; the other had been stolen by my dear sweet little Dashy, shown frisking in the lower left corner of the painting. I was posed standing by a library table with a world globe nearby and Windsor Castle seen in the distance. Nearly every afternoon for seven weeks I had to stand motionless for two hours at a time, while the painter dabbed at his canvas. HOW TEDIOUS! But the finished portrait was to be a wedding gift for Uncle Leopold and his bride, Princess Louise of Orléans, whom he had recently married. It was also reproduced in black and white engravings intended to be widely distributed, so that my future subjects would have a likeness of their future queen.

  During that busy winter and spring my evenings were often occupied with visits to the theater, the opera, and the ballet. In April we went to see Marie Taglioni, the dancer, make her London debut in Rossini’s opera, Cenerentola—Cinderella. Madame Taglioni danced sur la pointe, on the tips of her toes, so lightly and gracefully. In May we saw her again; the ballet was excessively pretty. I took careful note of her costume, a sort of Swiss dress with a blue and white apron, and a little straw hat with her hair in plaits. She was not a beautiful woman—in fact I thought she was rather plain, though she danced beautifully.

  I was very much amused, but I soon learned that Mamma was not.

  “I do wish Madame Taglioni would not shorten her skirts quite so much,” Mamma protested. “It’s truly scandalous.”

  “They say she does it to show off her pointe work,” explained Lady Charlotte, who often accompanied us to these events.

  “One does not need to see her legs in order to admire her feet,” Mamma sniffed disapprovingly.

  I could not understand what was so improper about seeing the dancer’s legs, but as Daisy once explained to me, Mamma’s sense of moral propriety was much higher than most people’s—maybe than anyone’s.

  In May I celebrated my fourteenth birthday. Among the many gifts were prints for my collection, books, embroidered handkerchiefs, little china figures, and a great many pieces of jewelry, including a lovely ferronière, a jewel on a chain worn on the forehead. I had wanted one ever since Mamma had her portrait done wearing a ferronière and looking so very pretty. I thought it made me appear grown up and elegant, though I did find it a bit difficult to get used to having something dangling there.

  Throughout the day friends and guests stopped by. Sir John and the Conroy family came in the morning, and I must confess that my very favorite of all my gifts was given to me by Sir John: a life-size portrait of dear little Dashy! King William and Queen Adelaide arrived late in the afternoon and presented me with a pair of diamond earrings. Mamma and the king were barely speaking to each other, since she had refused to let me attend the coronation or even to visit them at Windsor. Dear Queen Adelaide was always quite kind and pleasant to Mamma, possibly to make up for the king’s ill humor.

  My uncle Leopold sent me a very important and very serious letter in which he pointed out the need for regular self-examination to guard against the selfishness and vanity to which he said persons in high stations are known to be susceptible. “It is necessary that the character of such persons be formed so as not to become intoxicated by greatness or success, nor to be cast down by misfortune.”

  Dear Uncle Leopold! I thought, and placed it in the silver casket where I kept all his letters. So kind, so wise! I could not have a better man advising me.

  The day being an unusually fine one, my guests and I went out into the garden and enjoyed bowls of sillabub—fresh cream whipped with sugar and wine—under the trees. That evening the king and queen gave a Juvenile Ball at St. James’s in my honor. Mamma and I and the king and queen and a few others gathered in the Royal Closet, a large chamber next to the ballroom. When all was ready, servants in the king’s livery opened the doors and a trumpet fanfare was played. I placed my left hand on King William’s right wrist, and he led me into the ballroom. Victoire Conroy was present, as well as many other children.

  I opened the dancing with my cousin, Prince George of Cambridge. This was followed by three more quadrilles before supper, at which I sat between the king and queen, and four more quadrilles after supper. I danced every one of them. Madame Bourdin, my dancing mistress, oversaw it with a critical eye, to make sure all was done
properly. I enjoyed myself and was very much amused.

  I am now fourteen! I thought contentedly as I drifted off to sleep in the hour past midnight, with dear little Dash asleep at my feet. How very VERY old!

  Chapter 9

  VISITORS FROM ABROAD, 1833

  Nothing pleased me more than to receive visits from members of my family. I was delighted with the arrival that summer of two cousins, Alexander and Ernst Württemberg, the sons of Mamma’s sister, Antoinette. Both were extremely tall. Alexander, twenty-nine, was excessively handsome; his younger brother, Ernst, wore a kind expression. These two young men were both very attentive to me. My brother, Charles, of the same age as Ernst, joined us, making it a very gay and happy party.

  My cousins were perfect guests, always good humored, always completely satisfied with whatever was offered them. And such fine conversationalists! They spoke of such interesting things, such as their experiences growing up in Russia, where their father was a diplomat. Every day we went out driving and walking. In the evenings we attended the opera, and my cousins agreed with me that Madame Taglioni and her archrival, Fanny Elsler, both danced BEAUTIFULLY.

  But there was one extremely unpleasant incident, and Mamma was to blame for it.

  Dear Aunt Adelaide, who had always been so VERY kind to me and equally kind to Mamma, had arranged a ball at St. James’s to honor my cousins. I was sitting on the dais beside the queen, chatting most agreeably, when Mamma abruptly rose and, though it was still quite early in the evening, signaled me that we were leaving—now! Her expression indicated that nothing could persuade her otherwise.

  “Leaving?” Aunt Adelaide asked Mamma, puzzled. “But we are just about to go in to supper, my dear duchess. Can you not delay your departure a little?”

  “I beg your pardon, your majesty,” Mamma said in the sourest tone imaginable, “but my nephews have been at a review today, and they are quite fatigued.”

  “Fatigued? Those great young men are fatigued?” Aunt Adelaide smiled, raised an eyebrow, and shook her head in disbelief.

  I stared at Mamma. My cousins were both over six feet tall and QUITE STOUT. It would surely take a great deal to tire them. Why is Mamma behaving so ill? I wondered. But I had no choice but to make my farewells to the king and queen—the queen looking surprised and hurt, and the king glowering FURIOUSLY.

  My face was hot with embarrassment and shame as Mamma seized my hand, and with an imperious nod to my cousins, led us out of the ballroom. The ride from St. James’s back to Kensington was accomplished in silence. My amiable cousins stared uncomfortably at the rain that drummed on the windows of the carriage. I sat miserably in the corner, certain that the ill will between Mamma and King William would only grow worse, and I did not understand why.

  After a fortnight my cousins sailed back to the Continent. I missed them so VERY much, and I wished they were still with us. The days were wretched, with pouring rain, and the trees were bare. Kensington seemed dull and stupid and gloomier than ever.

  Daisy was no longer my governess—Lady Charlotte held that title—but she was surely my most devoted and affectionate friend. I trusted her more than anyone, including Mamma. Especially Mamma! As Daisy and I walked in the garden on one of those foggy, drizzling days soon after the king’s ball, I put my questions to her. “Why did Mamma insist upon leaving so rudely? Why does she dislike him so much? Has it anything to do with me?”

  “No, my dear Victoria,” she said, “it has nothing whatever to do with you, and you must not trouble yourself with matters that concern only King William and your mother. It’s true that they do indeed have their differences,” she added.

  I stopped to pick a few late summer flowers, causing my friend to stop as well. “Dearest Daisy,” I said, planting myself firmly in front of her, “please speak to me frankly. It is important to me to understand why things are as they are. Even if it has nothing whatever to do with me.”

  Daisy sighed. “You’re right, of course. I shall try to explain matters to you as I see them.”

  “Without glossing over the truth, however unpleasant,” I prompted.

  “Without glossing over the truth,” she promised, and we walked on together while I continued to gather a soggy, dripping bouquet.

  At the root of the problem, according to Lehzen, was Mamma’s refusal to recognize the king’s illegitimate sons and daughters. “The duchess has always behaved uncivilly to les bâtards, even when she was a guest at Windsor Castle, the king’s own house, and he resents it.”

  “But they weren’t even present at the ball! It was horribly embarrassing!”

  “I don’t know, but I suspect that something must have been said to upset her. The king is much perturbed by what he calls the Royal Progresses arranged by Sir John, traveling round the countryside and being greeted as though you are already the queen and he no longer exists. King William has sent word that whenever you and your mother are sailing on one of his majesty’s ships, you are not to receive the naval salute—the ‘pop-pop,’ as he calls it.”

  I nodded, remembering that guns were always fired as a greeting when the dear Emerald arrived in a harbor. I thought it was how everyone with a royal title was greeted.

  “When the king’s message was delivered to your mother, she immediately called on Sir John. He told her as her confidential advisor that he could not possibly recommend that she yield on this issue. The duchess took Sir John’s advice and informed the king’s Privy Council that she would expect to continue to receive the naval salutes. She believes she’s entitled. The king then convinced the Privy Council to issue an order stating that only the ships with the king and queen on board are to be given a naval salute. And that further infuriated your mother.”

  Everything the king did made Mamma furious.

  “Even without a naval salute, you are always the cause of much excitement among the crowds that turn out to see you,” Daisy continued.

  “That can’t be helped, can it?” I asked.

  “No, my dear Victoria, it cannot. There is nothing you can do to change the situation, and I’m afraid it will not improve.” Then she added, “Let us speak no more of it.”

  I flung aside the sodden bouquet. All of this saddened me VERY much, and I wished that I could write it all down in my journal. But that was out of the question, for Mamma read every word I wrote. Dearest Daisy did not wish to discuss it further, and my tattered Fidi doll could give me no advice.

  What if I kept a secret diary for my eyes alone? I thought. Then I could write whatever I please! But I quickly dismissed that notion. I couldn’t risk being found out. I would simply have to endure.

  Chapter 10

  MORE VISITORS, 1834

  For much of that winter I felt poorly, and in the early spring I suffered from a succession of indispositions: headaches, backaches, sore throats, stuffy noses, and a persistent cough. Mamma worried and fretted and often visited my bedside, but it was dearest Lehzen who sat quietly nearby hour after hour, reading to me and coaxing me to swallow ill-tasting potions.

  In mid-April I at last felt well enough to go out. We attended an opera, Anna Bolena, the story of that unhappy wife of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn. It was made VERY enjoyable by the singing of Giulia Grisi, an excessively pretty young woman who acted and sang most sweetly and beautifully. I was VERY MUCH AMUSED and honored Madame Grisi’s performance with a watercolor in my sketchbook.

  In May the arrival of more visitors pleased us all. One was Mamma’s brother Ferdinand, whom she had not seen since before I was born; the second was my brother Charles. But the best was yet to come: on the fifth of June my DEAREST sister Fidi and her husband and two older children arrived from Germany. The younger ones had been left at home under the care of our dear Späth. The family planned to stay with us for nearly two months.

  My heart was full to bursting at the first sight of Fidi. More than six years had passed since I last saw her, a nervous young bride. Now the PERFECT MOTHER to four children, she had grown stout but l
ooked very well. Prince Ernst beamed with pride as he escorted his family. Little Carl, four and half, was very tall with light blue eyes and fair hair, a nice-looking boy though not handsome (neither, of course, was his father, whom he favored), and a good-tempered little fellow. His sister Elise, a year younger, was a perfect beauty, with light brown hair and immense brown eyes just like her mamma’s. She was clever and amusing and spoke German and French very nicely. The children were the dearest little loves, not at all shy, and so VERY good!

  The first days of the visit were delightful, but I longed for time alone with Fidi and the chance to talk to her about SO MANY things. This proved difficult. Mamma naturally wanted to spend as much time as possible with my sister and had arranged dinners and entertainments nearly every day and evening for the adult visitors. To my extreme displeasure, and Fidi’s, too, Sir John and the rest of the Conroys were always included. Fearing that Feodore could exert undue influence over me, Sir John and Mamma no doubt conspired to ensure that I would not be alone with my sister as much as I wished.

  Only a fortnight earlier, just after my birthday, Mamma had appointed a new lady of the bedchamber, Lady Flora Hastings, and informed me that Lady Flora was to serve as my chaperone. I had not been consulted, I had not chosen her, and I was given nothing to say about it. I was fifteen years old, I would someday be queen, and still I was not allowed to choose my own ladies!

  I disliked Lady Flora from the start. Now at every moment she hovered somewhere close by, so that it was nearly impossible to be entirely alone with Fidi.

  “Who is this Lady Flora?” Fidi asked when at last we managed to escape. We were riding at an easy canter by the Serpentine in Kensington Gardens.

  “Perhaps you should ask Mamma,” I replied tartly. “All I know is that she is a great friend of the Conroys. That explains it all, doesn’t it?”