Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Jean Plaidy

  When it was over Lord Melbourne came to me; he was very emotional.

  “You were splendid,” he said. And later he told me that Fanny Kemble, the actress, who was present, said my voice was exquisite; and she had never heard a more musical rendering of the English language.

  I was pleased and I knew that it was not false flattery. I had had to study speech assiduously, for Mama had been intent on eliminating any trace of a German accent, and I had practiced enunciation and perfect pronunciation very thoroughly. Moreover, my voice was one of my assets—both in singing and in speaking; and if I had not been the Queen I might have made some progress as a singer.

  But the triumph was tarnished by the persistent fear that the coming election might rob me of my Prime Minister.

  A great deal of election fever followed. Harriet talked of it constantly. She showed me an article in the Quarterly Review by a Tory named Croker who called attention to the fact that I was surrounded by the female relations of the Whig leaders; and Sir Robert Peel was making speeches in which he declared that I was ruled by Lord Melbourne, the head of one political party—a matter that must be rectified.

  There were headlines in certain periodicals such as: Release the Queen from Whig Tyranny.

  Whig tyranny! How dared they! My relationship with the Prime Minister was one of understanding and trust.

  A verse was shown to me. It was one which was being circulated throughout the country.

  ‘The Queen is with us,' Whigs insulting say;

  ‘For when she found us in she let us stay,' It may be so, but give me leave to doubt

  How long she'll keep you when she finds you out.

  The Tories were growing in favor, and life, which I should have enjoyed so much because I saw that I could throw myself entirely into my new role and enjoy it to the full, was spoilt by this terrible fear. I tried to imagine Sir Robert Peel visiting me every day—his stiff manners, his serious face—I should not find it nearly so easy to understand politics as I did when they were so amusingly explained by Lord Melbourne. There would be none of those pleasant little chats. I should not be able to take Dash with me. I was sure the little darling would not want to lick the hand of Sir Robert Peel.

  “Oh, please God, let the Whigs stay in power,” I prayed.

  There was a great deal of talk about Uncle Cumberland, who on the death of Uncle William had become King of Hanover. That crown did not come to me because in Hanover the Salic Law prevailed and that meant that a woman could not inherit. Uncle Cumberland was something of a tyrant and as soon as he arrived in Hanover he had overturned the constitutional government and made himself a sort of dictator. The Whigs reacted to the Tory campaign by stressing the danger of the Duke of Cumberland's returning to make trouble in England; they were determined to keep him out at all costs. That wicked man wanted to bring the Salic Law into England so that he could add our crown to that of Hanover. There were cartoons showing us side by side—Uncle Cumberland and myself. I looked beautiful, young, with a dewy innocence—like an angel really—and my uncle was portrayed like a monster with his gaping eye socket quite repulsive. It was called “The Contrast.”

  And the Whigs insisted that they were the only ones who could make the crown safe for me.

  I shall never forget the day when the results were declared.

  Lord Melbourne came at once to see me. I rushed to him and looked into his face. I could not read the truth there. He was always so impassive.

  “Please tell me what has happened,” I begged.

  He said slowly, “The Tories have gained many seats.”

  “No!” I cried.

  “Thirty-seven,” he said. “But we have just beaten them. You see before you one who is still your Prime Minister.”

  He took my hands and kissed them. I lifted my face to his and saw the tears in his eyes.

  LATE IN AUGUST we went to Windsor. I missed Buckingham Palace. The country seemed rather gloomy. There were a great many rooks at Windsor and I found their constant cawing not only monotonous but a little depressing.

  I loved London—the streets and the people. Of course one could ride very happily in the Park at Windsor and it was perhaps the most splendid of all the royal homes; but for the first few days I was homesick for London.

  Then Lord Melbourne came down. He arrived on a magnificent horse and he and I went riding. The forest was so beautiful, and Lord Melbourne so witty, that I was much amused.

  There was a letter from Uncle Leopold. He was proposing visiting me and he would soon arrive at Windsor. This threw me into a flutter of excitement. It would be wonderful to see this favorite uncle again. I talked of him most enthusiastically to Lord Melbourne who listened most attentively.

  And then Windsor became like a home. In the morning I was with Lord Melbourne—who was having a short stay at the Castle—and we went through the State papers, which he made so easy to understand, and I was so happy because he was still in power, although he did warn me that the ministry had a very tiny majority, and that was not a healthy state for a government to be in.

  “Oh, we shall defeat those silly old Tories,” I said.

  “Not so easy, Ma'am,” he said. “Not so easy.”

  “Surely everyone must prefer you to Sir Robert?”

  “Everyone has not Your Majesty's discernment,” he replied; and how we laughed together.

  There were several children in the household. I remember chiefly the little Conynghams because they had such beautiful black eyelashes and the little one called me Tween, which I found very amusing. If I could I would play games with the children. It was fun running through the long corridors, and I indulged in battledore and shuttlecock with my ladies.

  I was reading every day and found Coxe's Life of Sir Robert Walpole a little heavy going; but I did enjoy some of Sir Walter Scott's novels, also Fennimore Cooper's and Bulwer Lytton's.

  I used to discuss them afterward with Lord Melbourne who, of course, seemed to have read everything and could discuss these books with grace and erudition. I thought of what Harriet had told me about his giving his life to his books when he had found Lady Caroline intolerable.

  I often reflected on the sadness of his life and it made me all the more fond of him.

  We dined at half-past seven to the strains of the band I had had installed, and the soft music made such an agreeable background. After dinner I usually played cards or chess or draughts and so passed many pleasant evenings. When the period of mourning for Uncle William was over there would be regular dancing and more music, but quiet table games were considered to be more suitable at this time.

  Mama had her own separate table where she played whist with some of her attendants. It was the only thing that could keep her awake. Sometimes she would try to catch my eye and look at me appealingly, at others angrily. I was very sorry to be on those terms with her but it was the only way, for if I softened just a little toward her she would have tried to dominate me and browbeat me into taking Sir John Conroy back. He was still in her household. Nothing had been done yet and he refused to move until his demands were granted. I had spoken to Lord Melbourne about him once or twice but he had always said, “The time is not quite ripe. Leave it alone a little longer.”

  So conditions with Mama remained very uneasy.

  How wonderful it was to see dear Uncle Leopold! I was enfolded in his arms. Then he held me back to look at me and murmur, “My Queen…My little Queen.”

  He kissed me again and again. And after that I was embracing Aunt Louise.

  There was so much to talk about. How were the little ones? Had they seen Feodore? What were the children's latest sayings? Did young Leopold still think his little brother was pas beau frère?

  We walked together in the gardens. I liked to see Uncle Leopold in conversation with Lord Melbourne… the two for whom I had such regard must like each other, and when I realized that they did, I was very happy.

  When we rode out or walked together, Uncle Leopold contrived to b
e alone with me and then he spoke of my cousin Albert.

  “Do you remember how much you liked him when you met?”

  “Oh yes. I liked all the cousins.”

  “But I think you had a special feeling for Albert.”

  “Yes, I do believe he was my favorite of them all.”

  “He is a splendid young man.”

  “I thought he would be.”

  “He would like to see you again.”

  “He must visit us. What of his brother Ernest?”

  “They are both in excellent health.”

  “I am glad. I thought Albert seemed a little delicate.”

  “Delicate?” cried Uncle Leopold.

  “He was very tired sometimes and he did not like staying up late. I love staying up late. I think it is a shame to cut the night short.”

  “Oh, Albert was growing. People get tired then.”

  “Do they? I do not remember getting tired. But then I have not grown so much as Albert.”

  “I thought you and he matched so well together.”

  “Oh,” I said, “you are thinking of marriage.”

  “Haven't you thought of it?”

  “There has been so much to do. No, I had not thought of it, Uncle.”

  “I believe you did once… when Albert was here.”

  “I was young and romantic then. Now I have state duties. There has been little time to think…of other matters.”

  Uncle Leopold laughed. “You have so recently come to the throne. You will learn that royal people have other duties besides officiating at ceremonies and signing papers.”

  I thought he was a little displeased with me, and I sought to mollify him.

  “You are right, Uncle, of course,” I said. “I hope Albert will pay us another visit.”

  “Oh he will. He will.”

  Then he talked of other things, of the possibility of there being another election soon, the near balance of the parties making it difficult to conduct government. I told him how relieved I was that the Whigs had retained power because I could get along so easily with Lord Melbourne; and the thought of his being replaced did not please me at all, and that I was taking singing lessons with dear old Lablache and that these took place twice a week.

  “It is such a pleasant relaxation from all the business I do. Lablache is so delighted that I have called him in. He would like me to sing more in French but actually I prefer to sing in Italian which seems to suit the music so much more. Dear Uncle, you and I must sing some duets. I have learned some of your favorites … Just for the joy of singing with you.”

  He was so delighted and we did sing together. Uncle Leopold said I had the sweetest voice and asked me to compliment Lablache on the excellence of his tuition.

  In the evenings I played chess with Aunt Louise who—I suppose because she played with Uncle Leopold—was very good at the game.

  On one occasion when we played, several of the gentlemen who were clearly eager for me to beat her, hovered over the table. There were Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston, and Lord Conyngham and they were all telling me how to move and very often the advice was contradictory. I do not think there is anything so disturbing—particularly in chess—as to be looked at while one is pondering the moves and to be given advice. Very naturally I lost to Aunt Louise.

  I turned to my advisers and said, “The Queen of the Belgians has triumphed over my Council.”

  They all thought this rather amusing, but I did feel I could have given a better account of myself if I had been left alone.

  Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise stayed at Windsor for three weeks. I urged them to stay longer but Uncle Leopold pointed out that he had a kingdom to govern.

  Before he went he said, “Albert often thinks of you. You will meet soon, I hope.”

  I assured him that I should be delighted to see Albert again. Then they had gone; and how I missed them!

  I sat down and wrote to Uncle Leopold at once:

  My dearest and most beloved Uncle

  One line to express to you, imperfectly, my thanks for all your very great kindness to me, and my great, great grief at your departure. God knows how sad, how forlorn I feel. How I shall miss you, my dearest dear Uncle! every every where. How I shall miss your conversation! How I shall miss your protection out riding. Oh, I feel very very sad, and cannot speak of you both without crying.

  Farewell, my beloved Uncle and father! May Heaven bless and protect you, and do not forget your most affectionate, devoted, attached Niece and Child. Victoria R.

  How glad I was that Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston were staying at Windsor. They did help—both of them—and particularly my dear Lord Melbourne—to alleviate my grief.

  I had the great pleasure when I was at Windsor of reviewing the troops. I wore something very like the Windsor uniform—and the garter ribbon; and I had a lovely little mare at Windsor called Barbara. She was very frisky and since Lord Melbourne insisted I did not take her to the review but went on steady old Leopold, which was really very wise of him for one needs a patient steed for such a ceremony, which lasts two and a half hours.

  “There,” I said to Lord Melbourne afterward, “I have shown you that I can review my troops on a horse and let me tell you, Prime Minister, that I shall never do so from a carriage… until I am very very old.”

  “You did splendidly, Ma'am,” said Lord Melbourne. Then he turned away to hide his emotion. “Forgive me,” he said.

  My dear Lord Melbourne! I grew fonder of him every day.

  I was very sorry when we had to leave Windsor, for although I had been there only six weeks I had grown to love the place. Time passes so quickly when one is happy and the summer of this wonderful year had been the happiest I had ever spent. The people loved me; there were compliments every time I appeared in public; I had spent three weeks with my beloved uncle; and Lord Melbourne had retained the premiership, by the skin of his teeth, as some said, but nevertheless he had held on. The election had been the only thing that had marred perfection, but as Lord Melbourne said, continual perfection might be a little dull, and it was as well to have the odd cloud to make one appreciate the beauty of the summer sky.

  But all was well and the glorious year continued.

  Alas, we must leave Windsor for I had to be in London for the opening of Parliament.

  On the way home we were to call in at Brighton and of course we stayed at that really rather odd palace that my eccentric Uncle George had created.

  This was not so pleasant because Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston had returned to London and the Chinese-looking structure with its low rooms did not appeal to me. One could get only the smallest glimpse of the sea from the strange place and it was all rather dull.

  I wrote to Lord Melbourne and told him of my impressions of the place and stressed how sorry I was that he was not there.

  He wrote back so charmingly—as he always did—and thanked me gracefully for my description of my coming to Brighton.

  Lord Melbourne entirely partakes in the wish Your Majesty has been graciously pleased to express that he had been there to witness the scene; but Your Majesty will at once perceive that it is better that he was not, as in that case Lord Melbourne would have been accused of an attempt to take a political advantage of the general enthusiasm and to mix himself and the government with Your Majesty's personal popularity…

  I supposed he was right. But how tiresome people were! Why could they not accept Lord Melbourne as their Prime Minister and be grateful for him. I was sure there could not be one better.

  It was November when I rode into London. The people cheered wildly welcoming me back, and I was so pleased once more to be in dear Buckingham Palace.

  Before the opening of Parliament I was to attend the Lord Mayor's Banquet at Guildhall.

  At this time Mama showed me clearly that she did not really understand the state of affairs between us.

  She wrote a note to me asking me to allow Sir John Conroy to attend the banquet.

/>   I was astonished. Did she not know of the demands Sir John was making? Blackmail, Lord Melbourne called it. I heartily wished that the matter could have been settled and that Sir John would be banished from the Palace, but negotiations still hung fire.

  “The Queen,” wrote Mama, “should forget what displeased the Princess.”

  I showed the note to Lord Melbourne. “I do so dislike that man,” I said. “I shall never forget how offensive he was to me when he thought he had me in his power.”

  “And now,” said Lord Melbourne, “he is in your power.”

  “But he is still here. Mama says that my attitude toward him is causing talk.”

  “The attitude of people in high places always causes talk.”

  “She says my obstinacy in this matter is hurting me more than it is Sir John.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I am not. He deserves everything that comes to him. He is the most odious of men.”

  “Then ignore him … until that time when we shall come to our decision.”

  “What shall I say?”

  “Nothing. Ignore your mother's letter. Leave it alone.”

  “I do wish we could finish with him.”

  “We will…in time. At the moment… let it go. Say nothing. That is the best way.”

  I sighed. I did so wish it could be settled and I need never think of Sir John Conroy again.

  Another letter came from Mama.

  Really, dearest Angel, we have had too much of this affair. I have the greatest regard for Sir John. I cannot forget what he has done for me and for you, although he has had the misfortune to displease you …

  That is it, Mama, I thought. I cannot forget how much he has displeased me. And your relationship with him has shocked me deeply.

  Never, never would I forget opening the door and seeing them together and the dire incident that had been for poor Spath.

  But I forgot the bitterness when I rode through the streets of London on my way to the Guildhall. The crowd was dense—so many people had come to see their Queen ride by and to express their loyalty to her. What a moving sight! I smiled and waved and there were tears in my eyes. They knew this and loved me for showing my emotion. And as I was sitting down they couldn't see how short I was, although Lord Melbourne was quite right. Many small people had done very well indeed and one should not be bothered by one's height.