Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Виктория Холт

  I felt wretched, frustrated. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to open the door, put his arms round me and tell me that there would be an end to silly quarrels which hurt us both so much. I wanted to say I agree to Lehzen's going. I'll agree to anything, but we must be together because our love is really of the utmost importance.

  I could not check the sob which rose in my throat. I think Albert must have heard it for he said in a very gentle voice, “Who is there?”

  Then I understood. It was not the Queen he wanted to hold in his arms; it was Victoria, his wife.

  I cried, “Albert, this is Victoria…your wife.”

  The door was flung open. He was standing there.

  I ran to him; he picked me up and held me fast.

  * * *

  I WAS SO happy to be with him. I said I was hasty tempered, a shrew. He replied that he should never have uttered the words he did. We both agreed that it was out of our love for each other that these quarrels arose. We must guard against them. We must stop them. They were spoiling our bliss. We were so fortunate. Little Vicky should have the best attention. We would call in more doctors. There was Stockmar for one.

  I knew Lehzen would protest. She let her jealousy of Albert overshadow all other feelings.

  But we had to make Vicky strong and we had to preserve our marriage.

  Of course I had Lehzen to face. I put it off and it was Albert who spoke to her first. Perhaps that was unfortunate. She would be suspicious of anything that came from him.

  She came to me bristling, her rage apparent.

  She said, “The Prince has spoken to me.”

  I knew what was coming.

  “He is trying to take you away from me.”

  “Oh no…Daisy.”

  “Yes, he is. He has suggested that I go to Coburg for a long holiday.”

  “I have been so concerned for your health. You work too hard.”

  “I cannot work too hard for those I love.”

  “I know…I know. How is the child?”

  “She is all right. There is nothing wrong with her.”

  “She does seem pale, thin, and a little listless, too. She used to be so full of vitality.”

  “It's people that are trying to make trouble.”

  “Daisy dear, the Prince and I have decided that you need a nice long holiday in Coburg. There is your sister. You know how interested you are in her children. You will go…and have a really good rest.”

  She was looking at me disbelievingly. I met her gaze steadily. She knew me well. She knew that I was telling her she would have to go and that the last nursery scene must be the final one. She could not believe that the ties that held me to her were not stronger than those that bound me to my husband.

  I could not say to her what I should have liked to. Dear Lehzen, I shall never forget what we have been to each other. I love you. I am grateful for all the loving care you gave me over so many years. I cherish happy memories of the times we have had together. But I have a husband now … and my husband and my children must come first.

  I could not say it, but she knew what was in my mind. She knew of my wretchedness because we must part; but she also knew that I had come to terms with my new life. I had to accept her departure as I had that of my dear Lord Melbourne, and since the coming of Albert they had ceased to be of paramount importance in my life.

  Poor Lehzen! How tragic she looked. I could not bear it. I put my arms around her and cried quietly, while she held me to her. She wept too, but there was resignation in our tears.

  * * *

  LEHZEN COULD NOT go immediately, of course. After such a long stay in the household there were many preparations to be made. She had written to her sister and there was a ready welcome awaiting her in Coburg.

  We did not talk about her departure very much. It was too painful for us both, but I knew she was sorting out her things and deciding what must be taken with her.

  To our great joy, Vicky's health started to improve. Albert saw a great deal of her. I think he had a special feeling for Vicky. In fact I now know that he did, for that was borne out through the years. She was such an enchanting creature, and showed signs of brightness already, which delighted Albert.

  The Boy was young yet, but we fancied he was not as forward as Vicky had been at his age. But all that mattered at this time was their good health.

  My relations with Albert had become closer. I began to see things through his eyes. I realized my own shortcomings. I had been so long governed by that ill temper, which would flare up so suddenly, and while it was with me I was capable of saying the most outrageous things.

  “We must conquer it,” said Albert. “I promise you we shall.”

  “It is rather formidable,” I admitted.

  “It is a dragon to be slain,” said Albert. And he looked like St. George himself setting out to slay it. “It must be slain,” he said, “before it slays us.”

  How right he was! How right he always was! Even about Lehzen. I loved her dearly and always would. Loyalty and fidelity were two virtues I did possess. Of course I was arrogant at times. Perhaps I had had queenship thrust upon me at too early an age. I was, as everyone knew, hottempered, impulsive, apt to act first and think after… but at least I was loving, and when I loved I was faithful.

  But in spite of my love for Lehzen, I knew that she was interfering, possessive, jealous, determined to capture the first place in my heart and to hold on to it. And it was true that she hated all those who came between me and herself. She was incapable of organizing anything. The affairs of the household were in disarray, and there was inefficiency everywhere. The boy Jones had betrayed the lack of security. Albert had seen these things before the rest of us, and Albert was right.

  There was a letter from his brother Ernest, now, so he said, fully recovered from his malady. That was well for he was about to be married. The bride was to be Princess Alexandrina of Baden.

  I was a little dubious about the wisdom of Ernest's marrying, knowing what I did of his reputation and the terrible consequences his ill deeds had brought upon him; but Albert was elated, he had very deep family feeling, and he believed that marriage would be the saving of his brother.

  There was an invitation for us to go to Saxe-Coburg for the wedding. I could not leave. The state of the country was such as to keep me at home; and there was no hiding the true facts nowadays. Sir Robert Peel was different from Lord Melbourne. He did not think one should “leave it alone,” but that I should know everything that was happening, however unpleasant it might be.

  Although I could not go, there was no reason why Albert should not. I hated to let him go, but it was his brother, and he naturally wished to be present at his wedding, particularly as it might be the saving of him.

  Albert was torn between two desires, to see his home again—and how he loved it; he was always talking about the forests with their pine trees and old legends—and his wish to stay with me. He chose the latter, and I was immensely gratified although the thought did enter my mind that he might have chosen to stay because although Lehzen would eventually depart, she was still in the Palace. He might have wondered what I should have been cajoled into if he were not there.

  However, I was delighted when he resisted the temptation to visit his old home and stayed with me.

  I wrote to Uncle Leopold telling him what a great delight our marriage was to both me and Albert; and I had a very pleasant letter from Princess Alexandrina that suggested to me that she was a very gentle, sensible, and religious young woman.

  “That,” said Albert, “is what Ernest needs.”

  I had the idea that, as Albert could not bring himself to go to Coburg for the wedding, the newly married couple should come to us.

  “Let us invite them to spend their honeymoon at Claremont since you are not going to Coburg,” I said.

  Albert thought this was an excellent suggestion and he wrote such a charming letter to Ernest that was full of good advice. Although Ernest was the el
der, Albert's being so much more serious and sensible, he looked upon himself as his brother's protector.

  I looked over his shoulder as he wrote.

  “Do not leave your wife at home while you go after your own pleasures,” he wrote. “If you always wish to have everything in the latest fashion and go to the races and hunt, you will not have enough. Here, people ruin themselves with such things. What does it bring?”

  Dear Albert! He was so concerned. And it seemed ironical that he should have a brother so different from himself.

  But he loved him nonetheless in spite of his inadequacies, and used to tell me with emotion how they had hunted together and walked with their dogs through the forest and skated in the rivers and lakes. In spite of their unsettled home life and the scandals attaching to their mother, they had a happy childhood… perhaps partly because of their affection for each other.

  Ernest and his bride were delighted at the prospect of coming to England and accepted the invitation.

  They came to us in July and I found my new sister-in-law amiable, charming, and sensible.

  Ernest was much as I remembered him—merry and courteous, but of course I knew he was something of a philanderer; and as he was so different from Albert I could not approve of him, and I did not believe he could make a quick change from a rake to a good husband as Albert had hopes that he would; but then he was his brother and he was surprisingly lenient with him.

  But before their visit we had lived through some stirring times.

  I shall never forget Felix Mendelssohn's visit to Buckingham Palace. Both Albert and I were delighted. I had always admired Mendelssohn's music and I told him so at once. Albert joined with me and Mendelssohn charmed me by asking Albert if he would play something for him.

  “I shall be able to boast that the Prince played for me when I return to Germany,” he said.

  “Yes, do play,” I cried. “The Prince is a musician, I do assure you.”

  Albert said, “Victoria!” reproachfully, but he was not displeased. And to Mendelssohn, “You must forgive the Queen's enthusiasm. It is due to affection rather than critical judgment.”

  But when Albert played a chorale by Herz, Mendelssohn was enraptured, and said the performance would have done credit to a professional musician.

  “Please sing for us, Mr. Mendelssohn,” I begged; and he sang his chorus from St. Paul, in which Albert and I joined.

  I clapped my hands when it was over and asked the musician if he had written any more songs.

  “The Queen is very fond of your songs,” said Albert to Mendelssohn, and to me, “Why do you not sing one for him?”

  I hesitated and was at last persuaded; and we went to my sitting room where I had my piano.

  Mama came in. How different she was nowadays! I wondered how much of her arrogance had been due to that odious John Conroy. I was thankful that he was now out of the way. Albert was so pleased because we were on better terms.

  I sang the Pilger's Spruch and Lass Mich Nur. Mendelssohn went into raptures over my singing, which I think was moderately genuine—quite a lot of praise for the Queen, but some for the singer, too.

  It was a very happy and informal meeting; and when the sheets of Mendelssohn's music were caught in a gust of wind and scattered all over the floor, I ran about collecting them; and I think he was astonished that a queen could act as naturally as I did.

  That was a pleasant interlude—not only because we were delighted to have a famous composer, but because he was the sort of person Albert enjoyed talking to, and I, hitherto, had been wary of inviting to the Palace—although, of course, I was more at home with musicians than writers, because I knew something of music and felt by no means at a loss in conversation.

  Soon after my birthday—my twenty-third—a very unpleasant episode took place.

  While we were driving in the Mall Albert saw a dark, ill-favored man close to the carriage. When he was within about two or three paces from us he brought out a pistol and held it toward us. There was a shout. I saw the man run, but before he could be caught he was lost in the crowd.

  When we returned to the Palace there was great consternation. It had been a narrow escape. The villain had got away. It was considered to be dangerous for he might very well try again.

  Lehzen was in a state of nerves. She wrung her hands and said I must not go out again. It was too dangerous. She went about muttering that she wished she could lay her hands on the villain.

  I said, “I do not propose to stay in forever.”

  I talked about it to Albert when we were alone.

  “We have to go out,” I said. “So let us go…well protected. It may be that he will make another attempt. They will be on the alert for him and catch him.”

  Unknown to Mama and Lehzen we set out with two equerries guarding us one on either side of the carriage.

  Rather surprisingly the man appeared again with the pistol and this time the police were waiting for him. He was seized, but not before he had fired.

  I was glad that he had been caught. Otherwise we should have been expecting to see him every time we rode out.

  It always depressed me to know that there were people who wanted to kill me; but I always felt calm at the time of danger, which surprised me as well as others. I cannot explain this, but my grandfather appeared to have it for on the occasion when he came within inches of being killed he presented an exterior of almost indifference.

  Sir Robert Peel came at once to the Palace. He was deeply distressed.

  “The man is named John Francis, Your Majesty. He is in his early twenties… and a joiner.”

  “Is he mad?” I asked.

  “He doesn't appear to be, Ma'am.”

  “Sir Robert, I cannot bear to think he will die because of this.”

  “His object was to kill Your Majesty.”

  “All the same…I do not like it. I always think these people are mad and can't be blamed for that. It is an illness in a way.”

  “Your Majesty is magnanimous.”

  “I should like his life to be spared. I do not want anyone to die because of me.”

  “One has to make an example of these people,” said Albert. “Otherwise we shall have others trying out the same sort of thing just to gain notoriety.”

  Sir Robert said, “Mercy toward this man could only be a matter for the Government to decide. It is not a royal prerogative, but I will put Your Majesty's wishes before Parliament.”

  He did; and as I had stated my wishes so firmly, instead of being hanged, John Francis was to be transported for the term of his natural life.

  * * *

  IT SEEMED THAT Albert was right.

  He had said I was sentimental over Francis and such leniency as had been shown might encourage others to imitate him. I had disagreed with this and had retorted that I was glad that I did not have the death of John Francis on my conscience. Albert was exasperated but in a tender way and that discussion did not end in a display of temper on my part. I found I quite enjoyed having these little disagreements with Albert, so that we could put our points of view and discuss them; but now that Lehzen's future was settled, although she was still with us making her preparations to depart, they were usually pleasant little tête-à-têtes, with Albert usually gently persuading me to take his opinion.

  He said now that if John Francis had had his just deserts we should never have heard of John William Bean.

  He came into our lives one day when Albert and I were driving to chapel in St. James's. A boy—a poor deformed creature, not more than four feet high, with a humped back—dashed out of the crowd to our carriage. He was carrying a pistol that he pointed at us.

  Two other boys dashed after him; one of them seized the hunchback and brought him to the ground, the other took the pistol.

  “Mischievous children playing games,” said Albert as we drove on. “You see, my love, it is unwise to let sinners go unpunished. People think they can treat us with impunity.”

  I pointed out
that John Francis had not gone unpunished; he had been sent to Australia for life. That was a punishment surely—perhaps as harsh as death. I was glad I did not have his blood on my hands.

  Albert shook his head as though he considered my reasoning illogical.

  When we returned to the Palace we heard that the police, thinking it was a game being played, had reprimanded the boy while complimenting the other two—they were brothers named Dassett—on their prompt action.

  But the matter was not to be as easily dismissed as that. One of the Dassett boys had kept the pistol and on examination, although it was packed with paper and tobacco, it was also found to contain gunpowder. Had it been fired, it could have been highly dangerous.

  This brought the matter into another light. The police, ashamed of having allowed a possible assassin to escape set about a hunt for the hunchback, and because of his physical appearance, he was not hard to trace. They discovered him quickly. He was not a child; it was his deformity that had made him seem so. He worked in a chemist's shop. Very shortly he was arrested. He was of the same leaning as John Francis.

  “These people,” said Albert, “are revolutionaries in the making. They are the kind which abounded in France at the end of last century.”

  What I remembered chiefly about that incident was the manner in which Sir Robert Peel—who was in Oxford at the time—came with all speed to the Palace.

  When I heard he had arrived I guessed it was because of the Bean case and asked that he be brought to me immediately.

  I shall never forget the sight of his face when he came in. He was clearly distraught.

  “I came as soon as I heard, Your Majesty,” he said in a shaking voice.

  “It was good of you, Sir Robert,” I replied. “But you see we are safe and sound.”

  He looked at me and I saw the tears well into his eyes. “Your Majesty,” he muttered, “pray excuse me.”

  He turned and stumbled away.

  I was deeply touched. The dear man was so concerned for my safety that he, whom I had always thought so cold, so aloof—although he and Albert had now convinced me that he was a fine politician—was moved to tears in his relief at my safety.