Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Виктория Холт

  It was a repetition of that other cousinly visit; we rode, walked, danced, and sang together. They were able to bring us news of Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise; and I was very happy for them because they now had a little son who was named Leopold after his father. I had been in transports of joy when I had heard of the child's safe arrival. Dear Aunt Louise must have been particularly joyful as she had been disappointed once before.

  When Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide invited the cousins to Windsor I was in a fever of apprehension lest there should be tension between the King and Mama.

  He did ignore her and made a point of my sitting between him and George Cambridge at dinner there; but perhaps due to Aunt Adelaide's tact, we managed to avoid a real upset and Mama and the King satisfied themselves with black looks.

  I was glad when the visit was over, which was such a pity, for I did love Windsor and the King was always so kind to me. We danced often and that was a great pleasure. I had too little dancing. Mama said I should not dance with anyone who was not royal, which meant that there were very few people with whom I could dance. But the cousins loved dancing, and would often whirl me around the drawing-room—which was of course permissible.

  I was very sorry when they left and kept telling myself how fortunate I was to have such delightful cousins.

  That was like a prelude. It was not long after the departure of those cousins when Mama summoned me to her apartments. She was waving a letter in her hand and I knew that it was good news.

  My heart began to beat more quickly. Could it really be…at last?

  “Your Uncle Ernest is coming.”

  Uncle Ernest! He was the one who had been so harsh with his wife Luise—Albert's mother.

  “And,” went on Mama, “he is bringing with him his two sons—your cousins Ernest and Albert.”

  “Oh, Mama!”

  “I thought you would be pleased. Uncle Leopold is delighted that they are coming. He says he very much hopes that you and Albert will like each other. He is, as a matter of fact, certain that you will. He says he knows you both so very well and he regards you as his beloved children.”

  “Oh Mama, that is wonderful!”

  “They will be here in May.”

  “For my birthday?”

  Mama nodded.

  I said, “My seventeenth birthday!” Mama looked a little less pleased, but I took every opportunity of reminding her how old I was getting.

  Excitedly I discussed the visit with Lehzen. I would get out my drawing books to show them. I wondered if Albert … the cousins… liked drawing. I wondered if they sang. Did they like dancing?

  “They would have been taught these accomplishments as a part of their education,” said Lehzen.

  “Yes, Lehzen, but there is a difference between being taught and liking.”

  Lehzen patted my shoulder and smiled at me.

  Inevitably trouble began to show itself. I had not realized before how anxious people were for me to marry a husband who should be chosen for me by them. Being in my position meant that there were differing opinions in the family and it was a foregone conclusion that the one chosen for me by my mother would not be the King's elect.

  The King very much wanted me to marry George Cambridge. There was no doubt that George was a very charming boy; he had been more or less brought up by Aunt Adelaide when his parents were abroad, and she and the King looked upon him as the son they had not had. They considered him ideal for me. But on the other hand Uncle Leopold and my mother had chosen Albert. It was natural for me to lean toward Uncle Leopold's choice. I had adored him, looked up to him. Of course the dearest friend I had ever had was Lehzen, but that was different. I did not idolize her; I merely loved her. Besides, Uncle Leopold's being a man made him seem more grand, more important; and I felt, at that time, that if Albert was his choice, he must be mine too. The fact was that I had fallen in love with Albert's image before I met him. I was determined to love Albert, because, since Uncle Leopold thought he was the most charming and the most suitable young man in the world, he must be.

  The King was very well aware of Uncle Leopold's intentions—just as Uncle Leopold was of the King's. I had heard the King refer to Uncle Leopold as “that water-drinking nincompoop, always thinking he is ill, prancing about in built-up shoes in his feather boa.” Uncle Leopold's opinion of the King was equally unflattering.

  I was horrified though when the King tried to prevent my uncle and cousins from coming to England. But the Prime Minister apparently said this could not be done, for there was no political reason why their visit should be banned. Then Uncle William looked around for the best ways of discomfiting them and he decided to invite the Prince of Orange and his sons to come to England, and their visit should coincide with that of my uncle and cousins. The Prince of Orange had long been an enemy of Uncle Leopold's.

  It seemed that, as usual, someone was going to do something to spoil the visit.

  Uncle Leopold was incensed.

  He wrote to me:

  My dearest child, I am really astonished at the conduct of your old Uncle, the King. This invitation of the Prince of Orange and his sons, this forcing him upon others, is very extraordinary…

  Not later than yesterday I got a half-official communication from England, insinuating that it would be highly desirable if the visit of your relations should not take place this year. The relations of the King and the Queen, therefore, to the God-knows-what-degree, are to come in shoals and rule the land, when your relations are to be forbidden the country, and that when, as you know, the whole of your relations have ever been very dutiful and kind to the King. Really and truly I never saw or heard anything like it, and I really hope it will a little rouse your spirit; now that slavery is even abolished in the British Colonies, I do not comprehend why your lot alone should be to be kept, a little white slavey in England for the pleasure of the Court, who never bought you, as I am not aware of their having gone to any expense on that head, or the King's even having spent a sixpence for your existence. I expect that my visit to England will be prohibited by an Order in Council…

  I have not the least doubt that the King, in his passion for the Oranges, will be excessively rude to your relations; this, however, will not signify much; they are your guests, not his.

  How angry he was! And how disappointed I was that this great occasion should be tarnished by this perpetual family bickering.

  But nothing could really spoil that encounter.

  Albert! What can I say of that first meeting? It is so sad to recall it now and remember him as he stood before me—tall, handsome—more handsome than anyone I had ever seen—quite beautiful—those large clear blue eyes, so earnest, so serious. I chide myself now because there was a time when his seriousness irked me a little. How could I ever have been irked by anything about my beloved Albert?

  I was greeted first by Uncle Ernest, who smiled so warmly and affectionately; then Albert's brother, that other Ernest, who was tall and handsome, but not quite so tall, nor quite so handsome as Albert; and he was very thin, far too thin. Albert was a little … just a little stouter—and that was just right.

  Mama was so kind and gracious. How charming she could be when she allowed her love to overcome her need always to have her position recognized! There was a wonderful family feeling about this encounter. Mama knew Uncle Leopold's wishes about Albert and me, and she was in wholehearted agreement with them. So this was the happiest occasion I had ever known because it was my first meeting with my beloved Albert.

  It is hard to recall it in detail, and it is too sad now that he has gone and there are only memories left. But I remember our going into the drawing room where Uncle Ernest gave Mama a beautiful lory, knowing how fond she was of birds; and Albert told her that it would not bite even if she put her finger into its mouth.

  “The colors are so lovely!” I cried. “I shall paint your lory, Mama.”

  “Victoria is very pleased with her little sketches,” said Mama, and dear Albert sai
d he would like to see them; so I sat on the sofa, between my two cousins, and showed them my sketch books.

  Ernest said flatteringly, “They are wonderful. You are a great artist.”

  Albert commented that they were really quite good, which was, after all, honest.

  Then we talked about music and I discovered that they both loved it, and that they played the piano and sang. How wonderful to sing duets with Albert!

  Mama clapped her hands and said how well our voices went together.

  My seventeenth birthday came. Another year and I should be eighteen—the magic age. Seventeen seemed almost there. I wrote in my journal:

  “Today I completed my seventeenth year. I am an old person indeed.”

  The days were so short. Every morning I woke up, I thought: The cousins are here. Dear Ernest and dear, dear Albert.

  I wonder sometimes whether I should have been quite so taken with Albert had it not been that Uncle Leopold had imprinted such a picture of his perfections in my mind.

  Perhaps I eulogize, looking back, and imagine I felt more strongly than I did. I had been deeply impressed by all the cousins. Should I have been as ready to fall in love with any one of them as I was with Albert? And was I in love with Albert at this stage, or did the overwhelming love for him which came later, make me believe I had been?

  We were not so much alike in those days, although afterward we grew to think alike, to admire the same things and strive for the same ends.

  I was at that time frivolous and pleasure-loving. How I enjoyed dancing! And it was my great delight to stay up late indulging in light entertainment. I was impetuous, loving people almost as soon as I set eyes on them, and showing my feelings. I could dislike people too. There was nothing restrained about me, and my dear Albert was all restraint.

  Then he did not care about dancing when to me it was the most enjoyable of entertainments, and he grew very sleepy at night. I was never sleepy when something was going on and I wanted to take it all in.

  No, we were not very much alike. It was only later that we grew together. So it may well be that I did not appreciate him at the time as much as I later thought I did.

  We were invited to Windsor. The King could hardly ignore them, even though he had not wanted them to come. I was in a fever of apprehension during the visit, but it went off fairly smoothly. I noticed that Albert was yawning during one of the King's levees and I was afraid that others would see it too. I could imagine the King's comment. Not that he could talk. He often nodded off and everyone knew it for when he opened his eyes he would often say something quite irrelevant to what was happening.

  Albert was aloof, reticent by nature; I was the reverse. He was witty and very thoughtful; he was cleverer than his brother; and when I looked at Albert I wondered why I had ever thought Ernest handsome.

  So it was a wonderful and memorable visit, and when it came to an end I was desolate. I could not bear it. The days had been so full and exciting.

  Albert said goodbye regretfully, but quietly. I on the other hand could not stop my tears from falling.

  “Dear Albert … dear Ernest…you must come again.”

  Mama wept too and said how delightful it had been to have her dear relations with her.

  “There must be more meetings,” she said.

  I had written a letter for Uncle Ernest to take to Uncle Leopold and in it I told him of my pleasure in meeting Albert.

  I must thank you, my beloved Uncle, for the prospect of great happiness you have contributed to give me in the person of dear Albert. Allow me then, my dearest Uncle, to tell you how delighted I am with him, and how much I like him in every way. He possesses every quality that could be desired to render me perfectly happy. He is so sensible, so kind, so good, and so amiable too. He has besides the most pleasing and delightful appearance you can possibly see.

  I have only now to beg you, dearest Uncle, to take care of the health of one, now so dear to me, and to take him under your special protection…

  I was desolate for weeks after they had left, and my only comfort was in remembering little scenes from the visit and some of the wise comments of my dear Albert.

  He told me, long afterward, that when he saw Uncle Leopold after that visit, and our uncle asked him what he thought of me, his only comment had been, “She is very amiable.”

  I laughed when he told me and compared his comment with all the fulsome compliments I had paid him.

  But, as I said at that time, Albert and I were very different from each other.

  * * *

  DASH COMFORTED ME during those days after the cousins' departure. The dear little thing seemed to understand. When I sat remembering, he would leap onto my lap and nestle up to me as though to say: The cousins have gone, but you still have me.

  “Yes, darling Dashy,” I said. “I have you.” And then I remembered how funnily Albert had played with him, for the two had taken to each other immediately, and that made me sad again.

  Now that I was soon to be eighteen I felt a new independence. My dislike for Sir John Conroy had increased. I should never forgive him for coming into my bedroom when I was ill and trying to extract a promise from me in the hope that I was too weak to refuse. It seemed a dastardly act—and typical of him. Mama was as close to him as ever, and I began to think of them as “the plotters.” Mama was so furious because Uncle William lived on, and she was becoming so dictatorial to me, and told me several times a day how much she had done for me. I said, very coldly, on one occasion, “No, Mama. You did it for yourself.” And I swept out of the room and left her.

  I think that shocked her, for she was silent, and there was a long conference with Sir John.

  I was changing. I was beginning to feel that there were two factions in our household, and my mother and I were opposing each other. Sometimes I felt I had only one real friend in the household; and that was my dear Lehzen.

  My half-brother, Charles, Prince of Leiningen, was with us at this time. He had two adorable little boys and I loved playing with them; but I believed that Charles was on my mother's side and planned with her and Sir John to make me subservient to her will, which was for her to be Regent, even after I was of age, and to make Sir John Conroy my private secretary. I knew what that would mean. They would make the rules and I should be expected to obey them.

  No! It was not going to be like that at all.

  For a long time Aunt Sophia, who was a constant caller at our apartments as she was also living in the Palace where visiting could then be easy and unceremonious, was somewhat enamored of Sir John. I knew that she was a spy for him. What was it about that man that women found so irresistible when he was to me quite odious? I was always careful what I said in Aunt Sophia's presence.

  Another sly creature was Flora Hastings, whom I had never liked since she was so rude to Lehzen, sneering at her German ways and her love of caraway seeds—as though that mattered, weighed up beside loving and selfless devotion, which was very different from what I found in some quarters!

  Looking back, I can see that I actively disliked Mama at this time.

  I wished to dissociate myself from her. I did not want the King and Queen to think that I approved of her behavior toward them. I am afraid my mother was not a very wise woman. She was very uneasy about the growing change in me but she did not attempt to alter her ways by practicing a little diplomacy. She could so easily have won me back, for she was after all my mother, and I felt a strong sense of duty toward her. I wanted to love her and tried hard to—but it was just that she would not let me. She must have known that I was acutely embarrassed by her assumption of royalty, but she continued in exactly the same way. I think in her heart she could not accept the fact that I was no longer a child.

  I was deeply distressed when Aunt Adelaide invited us to Windsor on the thirteenth of August.

  Mama said, “Here is an invitation to celebrate Adelaide's birthday.”

  “Oh, that will be fun,” I cried.

  “Not for us
,” said Mama, in the role of haughty Regent which she loved to play. “We shall not be there.”

  “But, Mama…”

  Mama held up a hand and I saw Sir John's eyes on me…mocking…because he knew that I wanted to go to Windsor and even if I did not enjoy going I would believe we should do so on such an occasion.

  “Adelaide”—Mama rarely referred to her as the Queen—“forgets it is my birthday a few days later and I do not intend to celebrate that at Windsor.”

  “Your Grace will wish to go to Claremont to celebrate your birthday, I expect,” said the odious one.

  “You are right, Sir John,” said Mama. “That is what I intend to do. So I shall decline this woman's invitation. I suppose she thinks her birthday is so much more important than mine.”

  “Oh no, she wouldn't think that at all, Mama,” I began.

  But Mama just smiled at me. “My darling, you don't understand these things.” She turned to Sir John and just as though I were not there said, “I shall send a note at once.”

  I went back to Lehzen, fuming with rage. How dared they? Why had I allowed it? Why did I not say, I am the heir to the throne. I could be Queen at any moment now … but I hope not. I want Uncle William to go on living. I don't want to be Queen… not until it is too late for you to interfere.

  Oh yes, there was beginning to be war between Mama and me.

  The King's birthday was on the twenty-first, not long after the Queen's, and of course that was a time when I must be present because it was a State occasion. No doubt Mama would like to give a regal refusal, but even she could not do that.

  So we traveled down to Windsor.

  The King had been to Westminster to prorogue Parliament and before returning to Windsor he decided to call in at Kensington Palace because he would know we were not in our apartments. Whether he had some inkling as to what had happened about our apartments I did not know. All I was aware of was that Mama had asked for more rooms and they had been refused. I naturally thought, when I came back to Kensington after my illness, that he had relented and given the required permission. I was to learn otherwise. I felt sure that he must have had some suspicion of what had happened and no doubt Mama's impolite rejection of the invitation to celebrate the Queen's birthday had particularly incensed him.