by Anna Kirwan
1 December
When I think how I used to be able to write so often, I am quite amazed. It is not only that Lady Catherine, and my new, English governess, Lady Northumberland (who is tutoring me in Court etiquette), are about me so much of the time. It is also because my lessons take so much longer these days. If I am imperfect in my recitation, I know they all think sooner or later I shall be responsible for toppling the Throne. Yet I do not think learning Cicero has much to do with provisioning the Navy or keeping track of the East India Company.
Lord Lyndhurst, the Chancellor, stood up in the House of Lords, and called me my Mamma’s “illustrious offspring”. He said Mamma has done her duty by my education, and it gives everyone the best grounds to hope most favourably of my future conduct.
Anyway, Feo, you and Charles are every bit as illustrious.
The House of Lords voted to name Mamma my Regent. I would be happier at this outcome if O’Hum had not immediately sat down to make a list of things the King can and cannot tell me to do. I should like to make a list of things Captain Conroy may not tell me to do. Or, that he cannot tell Mamma to tell me to do.
2 December
Oh, Feo. I have been so blind – blinder than Lord Nelson or Uncle Cumberland, for they each lost only a single eye. But I have been totally unseeing!
Of course, Uncle Leopold will go away. He has received another invitation to be a King in another land. This time it is Belgium. I can tell that this time he will go. I see that he must. He must get over Aunt Princess Lottie’s death, and accomplish more in his career. He is a v useful statesman, and he should have the running of things. (Stocky and Lehzen both assure me this is so.)
When I think of it, it is very strange that Royal persons are the ones who must switch their loyalties and their patriotism from one country to another. In the end, it is almost as if one’s family is all one has, for certain. I should not like to learn I was to be married to someone in Russia or Portugal or Denmark, and then have to turn myself into a Russian or a Portuguese or a Dane.
I am utterly miserable. The older I grow, the more I learn, the more there is that is intolerable, but that I must nonetheless bear.
Mamma and the Captain expect to receive news that the government will raise our income. They are quite jubilant these days. I fear my own Christmas will be more grievous than merry.
27 December
Oh, fie on all these grown-up children! My Christmas season is being mashed into a great mess! Uncle Billy has played a great trick on Mamma, I suppose he feels. He has told her I must change my NAME, to something ENGLISH!
Well, my name is like my Mamma’s. He is still in an ill temper over Mamma objecting to his introducing my cousin FitzClarence by name, so he’s giving her a taste of the same treatment… But it is MY name they are juggling! And I don’t believe he means simply that I should have an English girl’s name. I see what he is up to, even if no one else does. If my own name were translated from Latin into English, it would be Victory! He could pretend I am named for his friend, Lord Nelson’s, ship!
Uncle Billy told Mamma if I change my name to an English one, he will raise her income now, as well as going all the way back to when my Papa died! What a great lot of money that must be! I am ashamed to say, Mamma seems to think it would be worthwhile to give in. We will have no more debts.
Captain Conroy will have no more reason to become angry.
3 January 1831
Mamma does not understand the point of Uncle Billy’s gambit. She has agreed to change my name by dropping Alexandrina and adding Charlotte, because that would be more English. I do not like to think she is doing it for the money. But Certain Persons do rate such arrangements v highly.
5 January
The newspapers have reported this matter, and it is by no means true that everyone wishes me to change my name. Some say it is impossible, for I was Christened, and that is a Sacrament and can’t be changed. Others say “Charlotte” may not be fortunate, and I should be another “Elizabeth”.
I am sure it would pain Uncle Leopold for me to turn into a Charlotte. I am sure it would hurt Aunt Adelaide to call me Elizabeth, for that was her baby’s name who died. I might ask to be Katherine. Or Joan, like Fair Joan of Kent.
6 January
It vexes me. I am Victoria. I can see that I must be brave and give up a good deal that I love because the fate of nations requires me not to be selfish. But an Heiress Presumptive should be able to cling to her own name, at least. It is a small vessel in a great sea. But it is who I am.
I must persuade Uncle Billy to give up the joke. Mamma and the Captain simply go over the list to think of things they can arrange to do that His Majesty’s objections cannot prevent. Or so it seems.
26 January
I never recorded my lovely Christmas presents. Now it strikes me as tiresome. What is the point of writing, writing, writing? I am the only one who reads these pages. If only I could see by reading them that I have gained some small increase of wisdom through all these months of misery! I do wish something pleasant would happen!
13 February
Finally, something quite lovely to look forward to. An invitation has arrived – we are to attend a drawing room at St James, for Aunt Adelaide’s birthday. Compton is making me a new frock, of satin (white – no surprise) and blond lace.
It will be a change from sitting about this dull palace, playing hunt the thimble with Lehzen while Mamma and O’Hum drink tea with Lord Durham and Lord Dover and exchange slighting remarks about our gracious Sovereign.
Uncle Billy is so busy, I still have had no occasion to speak to him about changing my name. This Must Stop!
26 February
I can’t get it out of my head, Georgie Cumberland saying, “Things always seem to go from Baden to Worcester.” But it is not humorous.
My dress was not right. It made me look like a big dollop of mashed potatoes. I wore my pearl necklace, but no one remarked on it.
Uncle Billy appears to be v fatigued. He gave me a great, hearty hug, as if I were a tiny child, and it made me v happy for a bit, and I wanted to forget my trouble. Later, though, he said to me, “Shall we get you another of these pink things, Little Vic?” (He meant an iced biscuit.) No one was in a position to overhear us just then, so I saw my chance.
“As you are so fond of me, Your Majesty, why would you have me translate my name to English?”
He said, “By God, not you, too!” and laughed at me! I was v put out. I know I should have been more respectful, but my pride was hurt.
“I know you think it better to be named for a parent than for a boat,” I said, then went on. “I quite liked my cousin Adolphus, Uncle,” I said v firmly. “But I notice you did not name him for your ship, the Pegasus.”
Uncle Billy looked v startled, and also rather embarrassed. I was shocked at myself for speaking to him so, but I could not take it back.
Aunt Soap happened to come up to us then, to remind me to give Aunt Adelaide the present I had brought. It was a quilted silk jewellery pouch I made for her, and embroidered with my drizzled silver thread. (I expect she has more jewels to take care of, now that she is Queen.) She was v charmed with my handiwork, and thanked me three times.
Uncle never answered my rude remark, though he gave me quite a big embrace when we left. I did not enjoy it as much, though, for another Scene had just occurred. Lord Durham had caused some ado by insulting the Countess of Jersey, and Mamma was heard to take his part. It is too bad. The Countess’s son was quite pleasant at the ball. (How long ago that seems now!)
It does not seem well-bred to discuss whether others behave in a well-bred manner. Lehzen agrees with me on this point. Feo, what would you tell me, were you here by your poor little sister’s side?
9 April
There. I have torn out all the pages I wrote that were sad an
d angry. It is better to work at being good myself, than to complain of how I feel injustice and unkindness all around me. I will try to be happier than I have been. When I am not happy, I will try at least to be faithful and patient.
10 April
Ah, how I love the theatre! The delight of the costumes, the brilliant lights, the very, VERY FUNNY performances! How I wish Covent Garden could be part of every week! We saw The Sleeping Beauty. It was quite astonishing to see the thicket of briar roses grow right up out of the stage to surround poor Beauty until her Prince Charming can come to claim her. The stage set reminded me of Eastnor, that artistic little castle we visited last year near Malvern.
Later
Toire coaxed me to paint her as Beauty. She likes to array herself on the fainting couch in an attitude of “hopeful repose”. She did not like my picture, though, for my brush was rather too liberal when I did the wound on her finger, and it looks as though she is holding an apple. Lady Catherine suggested we call it “Snow White”, instead. I thought perhaps I could dress Dash up to be a dwarf. But Toire took offense. However, she took it for granted she could keep the painting.
16 April
Finally, I have heard La Malibran sing! Brava, bravissima! Il Barbiere di Siviglia, The Barber of Seville – we attended last week, Feo. What a stunning performance! Such a marvellous opera! I am uplifted beyond anything I could have expected. This is what Great Art can do for one’s spirit!
I carried my fan that Uncle King George gave me, and thought fondly and sadly of him.
Uncle Billy was there, in his Lord High Admiral uniform, with its masses of undrizzled golden lace and big cock-and-pinch hat. He sat down in the box, put his feet up on a footstool provided for the purpose, set his hat over his toes, and, I believe, dozed off. He spoke to no one at any rate, and showed no interest after the overture. I think he is v tired from all the work a King must do. I am heartily sorry I was unkind to him. After all, one girl’s name is nothing, compared with the rest of the world. Which, as he says, is always right off the port bow, firing warning shots.
24 April
After all the fuss – would you not know it, Feo? Mamma has decided she will not allow her name to be bought away from me. The Whig party is becoming more powerful now than the Tories, and she expects we shall be voted such an increase in our funds that she need not condescend to it.
I expect Uncle Billy is tired of this squabble. I hope so.
25 May
Early strawberries. Late tulips. Too much Latin. Not enough dancing.
11 June
No, no, NO! As Uncle Leopold’s departure approaches, I find myself almost frantic. It is just like a nightmare here, for everyone behaves as if everything is NORMAL. What shall I do? It is the most unfortunate thing not to have a father. But I do not remember my Papa, anyway. Uncle Leopold has been to me what a father ought to be – and now I must lose him! Am I always to be bereft?
At least Uncle Billy has finally agreed to a Coronation Ceremony. It is to be in September. Uncle Cumberland says it matters little that the last one cost 400,000 pounds. Uncle Billy says he doesn’t want the falderal, his won’t cost a tenth as much, and he’ll be tarred before he’ll let the bishops kiss him.
(I heard this from Lord Paget.)
8 August
This journal will not hold together if I keep tearing out pages and burning them. But I have been so overtired, with all my cares and studies, with never enough time to compose myself. There are always more guests to see, and they are hardly ever young people.
We shall soon leave for our holiday at Ramsgate, and I shall have more time to write there, perhaps. It will be difficult to hold to my resolve against sadness, however. It will be our last visit with Uncle Leopold for a very long time.
8 September
East Cowes, Isle of Wight
It is v strange once more to have my treasure, my diary. I thought it gone forever. When we left Kensington for our last holiday with Uncle Leopold, I entrusted it to Lehzen, for she alone could pack it privately. But the portmanteau suitcase it was packed in went astray before we reached Ramsgate. We were all v surprised when it arrived here at Norris Castle yesterday, all these weeks later, on the packet with the mail and newspapers.
So I take it up again, to record my days. There is much to love and admire in the world, but much that I fear I shall never understand. There is much that causes regret and sorrow.
Now I sit beside the sea on this beautiful Isle of Wight. Dear Lehzen is sitting near me, and Mamma and Sir John Conroy are farther up the strand, where the palm trees grow. It is so unusual that they flourish on English soil – I should like to paint them. Only not just now.
As I write, my Uncle William IV is most likely in his golden carriage on his way to Westminster Abbey to receive the Crown of St Edward the Confessor.
Unless dear Aunt Adelaide has a child, I shall be the next to wear that Crown. I should be at London with Uncle Billy for this solemn day. Even with all his cares and duties of office, I am sure he feels this in his heart as plainly as I do.
Yet, here I sit, as the sun goes in and out behind the clouds and the seabirds caw. They sound so lonely, up there so high.
I cannot write more, for my tears will melt the words.
Besides, here come Mamma and Sir John.
14 September
It is not my good Uncle’s fault I was not at his Coronation.
Uncle Billy is a good King, and tries to see both sides. He thought it would be best to honour the old first, and then the new – meaning me. I know that is what he wanted.
I have known for some time now that the People are actually v fond of me. The day I was with Aunt Adelaide when Uncle went to open Parliament, she set me up on the garden wall to watch the procession pass by. And those who had been cheering, “The Queen! The Queen!” began to cry out, “Hurrah for BOTH Queens!” In that moment, I was very, VERY joyous that I am English, and that I shall never have to leave Britain and live elsewhere.
They do not cheer my Uncle Cumberland, though – usually they call rude names. So it would have been v improper for me to be directly behind His Majesty in the procession, so that we’d have cheers, and then have my other uncles behind us, so the cheers would stop or turn mean. I understand this. And Uncle Sussex does not deserve that, and he would be with Uncle Cumberland.
But when Sir John and Mamma learned where I was to be in the line, they chose to be insulted over MY precedence being slighted.
Parliament has already granted me a HUGE increase in my income – I will now receive 16,000 pounds of my own each year. (One of the newspapers made a joke about it. A new Bishop of Derby must be named soon, and he will get only 11,000 pounds. They said rather than Heiress Presumptive, it would have been less expensive to make me the Bishop of Derby!)
Since we are finally well set, though, Mamma and the Captain decided to get even with Uncle Billy by not letting me attend the Coronation. I still can hardly credit the cruelty and impertinence of this.
I asked Lehzen to post my letter to Uncle Billy, so he will not think it my doing. Really, I hope he knows that already. I love him and Aunt Adelaide with all my heart. It saddens me greatly, to be kept away from them.
Uncle Leopold, too – a cross the sea in Belgium, so very, very far away. If it were not for my beloved Lehzen, I should be entirely alone with my sadness. No one else understands.
Later
Now I’ve written that, I see it is not quite true. I am blessed to have as many people about me as I do, who love me and try to understand.
I was moaning and complaining to the Reverend Mr Davys about how fearful I am of all the demands placed upon me by – well, I never like to say to him by whom. He knows Certain Persons are harder than others.
Moreover, I said, “What can I do, when those I love keep leaving?”
He said then, “Your Royal Highness, shall I recommend the closure of the Gospel of Matthew? Our Lord said, ‘Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’”
Well, Belgium is, at least, not the end of the Earth. I shall remind myself of that.
My last evening together with Uncle Leopold I was weeping, and he took my hand in both of his and held it to his heart.
“I will tell you, now, something I have never revealed to you before,” he said. “It is something Count Esterhazy told me long ago, that I have kept to myself all this time, lest the mystery and power of it should be dispelled. Perhaps your mamma knows, I cannot say.
“Esterhazy told me that it has long been common knowledge among the Gypsies in Hungary that there was a Gypsy at Gibraltar when your Father was there, who read his fortune for him. She told him three things.
“First – that he would never be King. Second – that he would attain supreme happiness, and would die soon thereafter.”
I sobbed when he said that, but I managed to say, “I am glad he was happy.”
“The third prediction was the most important, “Uncle then said gently. “The Gypsy told your Papa he would have a daughter who would be a very great Queen, of a very great nation.
“And, you see – the good woman will turn out to have been right.”
I was looking out at the sea as he said that, as I am now. For a moment – for one moment only – I saw how the sea is always touching all the lands of the earth, and how it separates England from other lands, and is also the way we go to get to them. And I saw how heaven bends down and touches the earth and sea, so gently we can scarcely feel sure it is there. But the same sky rises over all, filled with stars by which we may chart our course.
